Don't Let the Door Bang Shut Behind You
by MelodyPond77
Summary: A collection of fics for QL Season 4: Chaser 2 of the Holyhead Harpies. 11: He was spotting webs in the trees, shining in his wand light. His feet ghosted over the leaves, his eyes looked everywhere. He'd see the spiders before they'd see him. (Humorous Grindledore)
1. Practice Makes Perfect

**Practice Makes Perfect**

Neville had only seen his grandmother cry once. She had been in her room, and Neville had been sneaking around the house, quiet as a mouse, hoping to find some of those delicious candies his Uncle Billius had given him for his eighth birthday. Gran had smiled at her brother, commanded Neville accept the gift with a proper thank-you, and then snatched the candies from his hands to keep them hidden away for "special occasions."

Her door had been a crack open, and he'd seen her sitting on the foot of her bed, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to keep herself from breaking. Silent tears streamed down her face, as smooth as the gray hair that fell in waves down her back. Even if she hadn't been crying, he would have known something was most definitely wrong. She never let down her hair. It was always tied up tight, just like Gran.

His entire body was telling him to run. She scared him enough as it was; he couldn't be sure what would happen if he didn't get out of there.

As he tiptoed backwards, however, she started to speak.

"I know you can't hear me," she said through sniffles. "You're in St. Mungo's. Well, your body is in St. Mungo's. I think your spirit left a long time ago, Frankie. You and Alice were so brave to go and fight to protect us all. I wish I could be as strong as you were. I wish I could protect him.

Neville stopped. Who did Da want Gran to protect?

"For the longest time, I've been scared he would turn out to be a Squib," she said, and Neville's heart trembled as he realized. "Now that he's not, now that his magic has shown itself... I almost wish he was one. At least then he could stay here, where I can protect him. He's too weak to survive Hogwarts. He will never be the wizard you were, Frank. I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry." She cried, and Neville's heart shriveled as he began to sniffle as well. He tiptoed quietly to his room again, candy forgotten.

His grandmother didn't believe in him.

"Mummy," he said, climbing up onto his bed and clasping his hands. Sometimes he thought his mother couldn't speak to him in person at the hospital because her spirit was too busy being everywhere else to stay in her body. "If you can hear me, I'm sorry for thinking about stealing the candy I got from Uncle Billy. Gran says I have too much of a sweet tooth and it will make me fat one day. If I'm fat, other kids will tease me. Now that they can't tease me for not having magic, they'll have to find something else."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and then he opened them again.

"I want to see and understand the world outside me, Mummy. I have to make it to Hogwarts. Please, help me be strong there. Help me find good friends and master magic. Help me become someone Gran doesn't have to protect." He still felt trembly and scared from what he'd seen, but talking to his mum made him feel better, even stronger. Something deep within him whispered to him, and he smiled as he listened to what his heart wished.

"Mummy, please help me become someone who can protect Gran. Even if I'm not good at anything else, let me master defense like you and Da, so I can always protect her." He yawned. All this emotion and talking to spirits was making him exhausted. Foregoing the thought of candy, he curled up under his covers and slept.

* * *

Neville slammed the quill down with a frustrated sigh. He'd thought this would be his year—the year he mastered Defense class—but even Professor Lupin couldn't get much through Neville's thick head. The differences between grindylows and red caps, the characteristics of werewolves, these ruddy dementors all around the castle... he couldn't do it. So here he was, stuck in the library a week before final exams, studying while everyone else enjoyed the summer air.

"Hullo, Neville," a voice said from next to him, and he turned to see Ginny Weasley slipping into the chair next to him. On his other side, a dreamy looking blonde sat down. "What are you doing inside on such a beautiful day?"

He nodded moodily towards his textbook. "I'm trying to study for Lupin's exam, but this chapter could be scribbles on a page and I'd probably understand it better than I do now. I'm just not cut out for this stuff.".

"What are you learning?" the blonde girl said with a soft, feathery voice.

"Oh, Neville, this is my friend Luna Lovegood. She's a Ravenclaw in my year and she's really good at Defense." Ginny stood up. "Why don't you let her help you?" With that, the young Weasley turned to leave.

"Wait, Ginny, where are you going? You can't just ditch your friend on me!" he said, a note of panic creeping into his voice. As he'd grown to know her over the year, he'd realized that the shy ginger actually had a lot more spunk than she let on.

"Fred and George both have detention, and I know for a fact that no Quidditch teams have the field booked for the next hour, which means it's open flying time. So I'm going to go steal one of their brooms and practice. The Chasers are going to graduate eventually, you know," she said over her shoulder as she sauntered off, the library door banging shut behind her.

Neville turned to the blonde that had been left beside him. She had pulled out a magazine and was reading it upside down. "So, uh, Luna, right?"

"Yes. And you're Neville Longbottom," she said in a serious tone. "I've heard a lot about you."

He chuckled nervously. "Oh, you have?"

"Yes. Padma Patil was in the common room and insulted Roger Davies by comparing his Quidditch tactics to your academics," she said, turning back to her magazine.

Neville's gut twisted. He would never get used to the feeling of being the target of fun. "Oh."

"It was really a horrible insult. You weren't even there to defend yourself." She flipped a page.

"I—what?"

"It was really rude to compare your academics to Davies' Quidditch skills. You are much smarter than he is skilled."

Neville frowned. Didn't this girl realize that he was the most hopeless student in his class? "Luna, you don't understand, I—"

"Why don't we go study outside on the lawn? It's so nice and light outside. No more snow." Her voice was dreamy, and she picked up his book and skipped lightly out of the library.

Bemused, Neville did the only thing he could: he stood and followed Luna Lovegood outside into the sunshine.

* * *

"Alright, think of your happiest memory, hold your wand out steadily, and say ' _Expecto patronum_!'" Harry said, walking around the Room of Requirement.

Neville furrowed his brow in concentration. He couldn't come up with anything for the life of him. He caught sight of Luna's silver hare hopping by, as light and bouncy as she. He grinned as he remembered that day near the end of last year, before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort's return.

 _"Luna, I have to study! Professor Moody's giving us an exam on the strengths and weaknesses of specific defense spells in battle, and I need to ace this. I've got to get good at this subject."_

 _"And you will, Neville," she said with a smile. "You can study outside with me, in the sunshine!" She grabbed his hand and tugged him outside. He didn't protest further. He was too used to this._

 _Once outside, they collapsed under their favorite tree. Luna pulled out a bottle of sun lotion and began to spread it on her arms._

 _"Luna, what are you doing? You won't need any sun cream; it's not that sunny!"_

 _Luna simply shrugged and began humming a song._

 _"What's that song?" he asked, lying out in the grass._

 _"It's a Muggle song. It's called 'Check yes, Juliet.' I'm not sure why she's checking yes, though. Can't she just say it?"_

 _Neville laughed. "I don't know the song, Luna, so I can't really say. It sounds nice when you sing it, though."_

 _She rolled over to look at him. "You know you're my best friend, right?"_

 _"You're my best friend, too."_

 _"I don't care what everyone else says about you, Neville, because they say the same stupid stuff about me. You're the first real friend I've ever had, and I believe you're capable of anything you put your mind to."_

 _He smiled. "Thanks, Luna."_

 _She wasn't done, though. "You can do anything you want, Neville, including mastering Defense Against the Dark Arts. One day, you'll be able to protect the ones you love, because one day you'll realize that love is worth protecting."_

Pulling his mind back to the present, Neville glanced over at his best friend, who was grinning happily as her hare bounced around her ears. She waved as she caught him staring, and he waved back.

"Got your memory, Neville?" Harry asked. He was wearing an expression he probably thought looked encouraging, but mainly he just looked uncomfortable.

"Yeah," Neville said, glancing once more in the direction of his friend. "I think I've got it." He raised his wand as straight as he could and yelled, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A giant puff of white mist burst from his wand, and Harry cheered as Neville grinned. It wasn't corporeal yet, but to him, it felt like the biggest achievement he'd ever had. The mist hung in the air for a few seconds before fading away.

"Amazing start, Neville," Harry said, pride choking his voice as he beamed at his friend. "I always knew you could do it!"

Neville nodded and smiled with relief. Maybe Luna had been right. Maybe he really could master Defense Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

Professor Longbottom was just finishing the Venemous Tentacula's monthly pruning when a first year burst into the greenhouse, dirt and tears streaking his face.

"Uncle Neville, I _hate_ defense class!"

Neville set down his pruning shears and waved his wand, conjuring two chairs. "Have a seat, Lysander," he said kindly, sitting down in the other chair. Lysander sat across from Neville with a sniffle. "Now, what's the matter?"

Lysander wiped his eyes on his sleeve before sitting up and proceeding to babble about the horrible grade Professor Thomas had given him on his Defense exam.

"I can't do anything right in that class, Uncle Nev! I'll never master it, and then I'll never be able to help Da catch magical creatures or help Mum invent her spells!"

Neville smiled gently. "Lys, you're only eleven. Defense is a hard subject to master. You won't just learn it in one night. I didn't. I used to be awful at Defense."

Lysander's big blue eyes widened in a way that only a Lovegood's could. "But you fought You-Know-Who!"

Neville chuckled. "Only after years of practice and a few life lessons from some very wise people."

"How did you master it?"

"Well." Neville thought for a moment. "Part of it was because I wanted to survive the war. I _had_ to master my spells. A big part of it, however, was learning to love the subject. Someone once told me that I'd be able to protect the ones I loved once I'd learned that love was worth protecting," he said with a grin.

Lysander gasped. "Did Mummy say that to you? She's always saying that to me!"

"Yes." Neville laughed. "It was your mum's wise words that finally broke down my mental block. I used to have trouble with simple Disarming Spells, but now—well, just look." He took out his wand and waved it in the air, picturing his happiest memory—the day his first daughter, Alice Augusta, was born—as he said, " _Expecto patronum_!"

A bright, silver sea turtle burst from the tip of his wand and swam languidly through the air, taking a turn around Lysander's head and making him laugh.

"You really did master Defense Against the Dark Arts, Uncle Neville!"

Neville smiled. "And you can, too."

* * *

 **Round 1** \- The Defense Against the Dark Arts (Harpies)

 **Chaser 2** : Trying to master DADA

6\. _(song) 'Check Yes, Juliet' by We The Kings_

8. _(picture) [scribbles on lined paper]_

10\. _(dialogue) "You won't need any sun cream; it's not even that sunny!"_

 **WC:** (without A/N) 2,146 (FFN)


	2. Oliver and a Quaffle, Sitting in a Tree

**Round 3 of QLFC: Holyhead Harpies.**

 **Theme** : Write about the Holyhead Harpies.

 **Position:** Chaser 2

 **Word Prompt:** 2251-2500 words

 **Chaser Prompts:**

1\. (word) eulogy

2\. (genre) parody

12\. (word count) 2345

 **A/N:** This is 100 percent crack!fic. Just warning you all! Thanks to Amy (xxcallmeamyxx) for beta'ing, and Lizzie for inspiring, like she always does.

 **WC:** 2,345 according to Pages, not including AN or any of this stuff above that line right below this statement.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Oliver had not always wanted to be a Quidditch Keeper. Originally, from the time he was six to the time he was ten years of age, he'd fancied himself an alchemist.

"No, that's not right," the narrator mumbled, clicking away at her computer. "Erase that last bit." She pressed the backspace button and tried again.

Originally, from the time he was six to the time he was ten years of age, he'd fancied himself a wandmaker.

"Yes! That's much better," she said, beaming.

He played Quidditch as a hobby, almost an afterthought, and spent most of his days reading books about types of wood. However, he loved to listen to professional Quidditch matches on the wireless radio every Sunday at 6 PM.

"Da! Da! Da! Where's the wireless radio? I can't find it anywhere and the game is going to happen this evening!" Oliver yelled, running through the house. He opened and shut every drawer and cabinet he could find, searching for the radio with no success.

"Da! Where is it?" He finally reached the kitchen, where his father was enjoying a cup of coffee and reading the Daily Prophet.

"Wait one second—I live in England. I don't even _like_ coffee!" Mr. Wood interjected, looking up from his newspaper to stare at the narrator.

The narrator paused. "Why not? Coffee is delicious."

"I'm _British_."

"So? Have you ever tried coffee?"

"No, but I'm a British book character. We're always drinking tea! Tea is just as delicious as coffee!" Mr. Wood said, agitated.

The narrator shrugged. "Fair enough. You can drink tea. Just carry on with the story! Oliver, go back outside and do your entrance again. Mr. Wood, you're about to look up and see ten-year-old Oliver searching for his radio. Everyone ready? Go!"

The narrator changed the coffee into tea, and Mr. Wood went back to his paper, slightly happier than before.

Oliver ran back into the room, breathless. "Da, where's my radio?"

"I don't think you'll need your radio today, son!" His father said, looking up from the Daily Prophet. There was a big smile on his face.

"Why not? I have to listen to the game! It's tradition!"

"Check under your plate. I think you'll find something better than a wireless radio." He watched as Oliver lifted his breakfast plate, pulling out two tickets to see the Holyhead Harpies vs Pride of Portree Quidditch game.

"Harpies vs Pride? I'm a Puddlemere fan!" He groaned, looking at where the narrator sat typing at her computer.

"So? The Puddles have their BYE round this week. They aren't playing."

"But you're the narrator of this story! They don't have to play in real life, just in here!"

The narrator clenched her fists in annoyance, stretching her fingers out before placing them back on the keys. "Oliver, I'm a Harpy, so that's why the Harpies are playing this match. Also, we just defeated the Prides, so they're the last team I played! Let's just say they've been on my mind recently. Call this my victory lap."

"But I want to see Puddlemere United play!"

"Well, too bad!" the narrator said, frowning at her characters. "I'm the narrator. This is my story."

"Fine! Just don't expect me to be happy about it."

The narrator went back to typing. "Oliver, let's take it back to where you've just found the tickets under your plate."

"Oh, wow. Thanks so much, Da." Oliver said, pulling the tickets from beneath the plate. His voice was more monotone than Percy Weasley's, and he didn't look enthused.

"Oliver! _Happy_ ," the narrator hissed, and Oliver plastered the fakest smile on his face.

"Thank you _so much_ , Da! I can't wait to go with you!" He turned and stuck his tongue out at the narrator, who just rolled her eyes and kept writing.

"I thought you would enjoy it! We'll leave in an hour." Oliver nodded with excitement, jumping up to leave the scene.

"Don't forget—next scene, you wear your Harpies jersey!"

The characters left the room, and the narrator wiped the sweat from her brow. This writing thing was turning out to be harder than she thought.

* * *

"Alright, new scene everyone! Harpies, Prides, you're up in the air. Start tossing that Quaffle around! Woods, you're in the stands. Oliver! Where's your Harpies jersey?!"

Her main character strolled onto set dressed head to toe in Puddlemere blue. "I told you, I don't like the Harpies. I'm wearing my Puddlemere jersey."

The narrator narrowed her eyes, then began typing on her computer furiously. "Oliver Wood walked into the stadium, dressed head to toe in Harpies gear!" she said aloud, and Oliver frowned as his Puddlemere blue melted into the green of the Harpies.

"That's so not fair!"

"Oh, shush. Just get into place and finish this scene! Please, just cooperate. You can leave afterward; I'll only need adult Oliver after this."

Mr. Wood sat down in his chair, and Oliver sat down beside him, a scowl still on his face. Above, the Harpies and Prides began to race around, throwing the Quaffle back and forth with precision.

"Harpies second Chaser SCORES! The Prides' third Chaser tries to throw to the first Chaser, but—I can't believe it! Their first Chaser misses the ball!" The Quaffle goes flying through the air, directly into Oliver Wood's hands.

"Hold it!" The first Chaser of the Prides yells, and everyone in the scene pauses. "I would _never_ miss the ball. That's just unrealistic! I'm the best Chaser this team has, and I'm being unfairly treated! I demand a rewrite!"

"Oh, shut up. This is totally valid," her Captain said, glancing at her nails. "Just practice harder next time and maybe you'll improve."

The Chaser crossed her arms tightly and flew out of the stadium in a huff.

"Well... just carry on. We don't really need her," the narrator said, barely even glancing up from her computer.

Gwenog Jones, the Captain of the Harpies, flew down to where Oliver held the Quaffle, staring at it in awe.

"That was a great catch, kid. You like Quidditch?"

"Uh... yeah." His eyes were like saucers as he stared up at the Harpy.

"If you keep working on that, you'd make an amazing Keeper. You could play professionally one day. Not with the Harpies, since you're a guy, but you could definitely play for Puddlemere or maybe even the Magpies. You've got the talent to make it in the big leagues."

Oliver's jaw dropped. "Th-thanks. Here's your Quaffle, sir—I mean, ma'am."

Jones winked. "Enjoy the rest of the game. After we win, maybe you'd like an autograph." She flew back into the sky.

"And, SCENE!"

"You never said I was going to meet Gwenog Jones!" Ten-year-old Oliver said, bouncing in his seat like a puppy. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You weren't acting like you deserved it! Honestly, the only reason I kept that bit in there was because I have to use the word 'harpy'." The narrator slipped her laptop into her bag, swinging it on her shoulder. "I've got to rush off to Hogwarts. I'm meeting seventeen-year-old Oliver there to finish this story. Thanks for all your work, guys." She hurried from the stadium, and the scene dissolved in her wake.

* * *

Oliver Wood was pacing in the locker room at Hogwarts Quidditch Stadium, attempting to mentally prepare himself for his very last game. He knew there were going to be Puddlemere scouts there tonight, which was exciting. At the same time, though, he was so nervous he thought he would be sick. If this game didn't go well…

"Don't think like that, Oliver," he said aloud, placing a palm on a nearby locker to try and steady himself. "You can do this. You're an amazing Keeper. You catch the Quaffle almost every time. Just remember—there's a magnet in your hands and there's a magnet in the Quaffle, and they're meant to stick tog— oh, Merlin, are you really making me say this? This is so cheesy!" he said, glaring up at the narrator.

"Oliver! You're supposed to be so obsessed with Quidditch nothing else matters to you. You are a Quidditch Nazi. In fact, the Weasley twins often call you a Quidditch Nazi. Is this sort of pep talk really that far out?"

Oliver frowned. "Well, when you put it that way..."

"See? The narrator is always right!"

"Can't I just say 'You're going to win this thing' and just be done with it?"

"If you really want to, you can say that, too."

Oliver beamed. Then, he composed himself, breathing in and out like good actors are meant to do. "You're going to win this thing," he told himself and nodded firmly. He was just beginning to adjust his arm guards when the rest of the team walked in.

"Ollie-wollie, why are you here so early? Are you trying to get in an extra little make out session with the Quaffle?" Fred Weasley said, grinning from ear to ear.

Oliver blushed but ignored the comment. "Guys, this is the best team," he began, launching into his standard speech. The Weasley's joshed their way through it like they always did, the girls blushed and smiled when he mentioned they were the best chasers, and Harry just sat there looking like he was going to puke. Everything seemed normal.

"Alright, let's all meet up outside!" The rest of the team exited the locker room as Oliver bent down to adjust his leg guard. The door banged shut behind them.

"Need some help with that, Ol?" a female voice asked him, and Oliver looked up to see Katie standing before him.

"Why aren't you outside with the others?" He asked.

"It's your last game. You've been an amazing captain, Oliver, and I've really appreciated the last three years. I'm going to miss you next year. I just wanted to—to tell you that," she muttered, blushing.

Oliver blushed as well, trying to stamp down the feelings that were welling up inside. He'd had a crush on Katie Bell for ages, and he wished he could say something about it.

"Hold on, what?!" Oliver yelped, staring up at the narrator. "I don't like Katie! I like the Quaffle!"

The narrator stopped, and both she and Katie stared at Oliver in shock. "What are you talking about? You've got to be in love with Katie. You're my OTP!"

"Well, I don't love her! I never loved her! I won't ever love her! I refuse to love her," he yelled, pushing Katie away from him.

"Thank Merlin you don't! I don't love you either. I'm in love with Alicia! We've been hooking up with each other for months now," Katie said, a look of disgust crossing her face as she thought about hooking up with Oliver.

"No! Stop it!" The narrator cried, slamming down her hands in annoyance. "Katie loves Oliver, Oliver loves Katie. That's the way it's always been!"

The rest of the team piled into the locker room to watch the drama. "What's going on?" someone asked.

"She wants me with Oliver!"

"But you're a lesbian. Everyone knows that!" George Weasley said.

"And Oliver really does make out with the Quaffle," Fred added.

"I refuse to change what I'm writing!" the narrator said, clutching her computer closer. "This is MY story. MINE!"

Fred and George advanced on the narrator, swinging their beater bats menacingly. "We'll see about that!"

Harry darted in, snatching the computer away from the narrator as the Weasley twins held her down.

"Suddenly, the narrator's head exploded from all the pressure of writing this much!" he typed out, and that's exactly what happened.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team glanced around. "What do we do now? How do we finish the story without a narrator?"

Oliver glanced at the computer, then sat down and placed his fingers on the keys. "I guess we write it ourselves. Let's begin with... 'The Gryffindor team won the match, which also won them the Quidditch Cup. Oliver received his beloved Quaffle upon his win, and he was able to live happily with it. He was also offered a place on Puddlemere's team as their reserve Keeper, and thus left school with a job.'"

"My turn, my turn!" Fred said, grabbing the computer. "'Fred and George began a new line of Eulogy Cards, inspired by the death of the narrator. They summed up the life of the dead person in the form of a haiku.' What should we write for the narrator?"

George thought for a second. "How about this: _Narrator: you sucked. This shall be your eulogy. Refrigerator."_

"George, that makes no sense," Angelina said.

"Exactly! But it takes up word space!"

Harry frowned. "Why are we taking up word space?"

Oliver sighed. "Because, Harry, the narrator had to go and choose the word count prompt. This story can't be over until it's exactly 2,345 words."

Katie checked the word count at the bottom of the page . "Hey, look! It's at 2,158 words now! We're almost there guys! What else can we say?"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will be coming out with mail orders soon!" George yelled.

"Oliver and Katie are secretly blood siblings!" Fred yelled, but Angelina quickly _silencio'd_ him for that.

"Fred, that's not even _close_ to being right. Katie and I are just old family friends."

"2,230 words. Anyone else got something to add?"

"No. We do need to figure out how to get rid of this body, though..." Harry said.

"How about this: 'The narrator's headless corpse dissolved in golden light as she was brought to her next life,'" Katie suggested, hands poised at the keys.

George snorted. "Is she really worth some beautiful golden light?"

Oliver shrugged. "As annoying as she was, she did have her clever moments. That Quidditch match, for instance."

Alicia glanced over Katie's shoulder. "You're now at 2,329 words and counting. What else should we say?"

"Say something noteworthy," Fred suggested.

Katie smiled. "Let's end with this: And they all lived happily ever after!"


	3. Fawkes and the Mystery of the Missing Ph

**Fawkes and the Mystery of the Missing Phoenix Food**

* * *

 **QLFC Round 4: Creature Comforts**

Theme: Write from the point of view of a magical creature (Phoenix)

Position: Chaser 2

Chaser Prompts:

2\. (genre) mystery

4\. (poem) "The Peace of Wild Things"

5\. (quote) "Not all who wander are lost." ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Word Count (Pages): 1,551

* * *

 _~eat~_

 _Eat. Fly. Sing. Fly. Sleep._

It was a mantra he'd repeated to himself for millennia, since the day he'd been born from the drop of sunlight that fell to the Earth. Each morning he would rise with the sun, rejuvenating himself with food. In earlier years, he was required to find this food for himself; since he'd settled within the magical boundaries of Hogwarts, the headmasters had provided it for him.

And so, as the first rays of sunlight glanced through the window to Dumbledore's office, Fawkes the phoenix rose, hopped to where his food bowl sat on Dumbledore's desk, and then stopped in horror.

His bowl, usually filled with the delicious, mouse-flavored brown pebbles he so enjoyed each morning had been replaced with something dry, chunky, and _green._

Fawkes hopped along his perch in outrage, looking for whoever was playing this trick.

 _Food? Where is my food? What has happened to my food?! I must solve the mystery of my missing food, or I will not have the energy to spread my peaceful song throughout the magical borders of Hogwarts!_

With a loud and angry cry, Fawkes leapt from his perch, circling high above the room before portaling from the office with a bright flash of flame.

* * *

 _~fly~_

Instead of taking his normal route past the Owlery to Hagrid's Hut and then on to the Forbidden Forest, Fawkes flew over the school, searching for the Food Thief. He swooped low over the Quidditch Pitch and caught the sounds of two students speaking to each other. Tuning his hearing to their conversation, he listened for any information about his missing food.

"…you can't be serious, Oliver," the girl said, and Fawkes listened closely. Perhaps this Oliver boy took his food and the girl was surprised he did?

"You're looking at the newest Puddlemere Reserve Keeper," the boy said proudly, and Fawkes deflated. Who cared about being a Quidditch Keeper when Fawkes' food had turned _green?!_

The boy and girl had lowered their voices, murmuring to each other as their faces leaned closer. Fawkes didn't understand what they were doing, but he decided to ask them if they'd seen his food. Fawkes had been around for thousands of years, and he'd seen great detectives at work. Great detectives always asked questions.

 _Have you seen my food?_ he tried to ask, but to them, all that came from his beak was a low, musical cry.

They leapt apart, the girl turning red and the boy rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is that… Fawkes? Dumbledore's phoenix?" The girl looked shocked.

"Shouldn't he be flying over the grounds right now? That's what he's always doing when we have our dawn practices." The boy wrapped an arm around the girl. "Maybe he's ill?"

Fawkes muttered a curse word in Phoenix, launching himself back into the air. The lovebird children were of no help to him.

* * *

 _~sing~_

Fawkes decided to fly up to Gryffindor tower to find his food. Perhaps someone there had stolen it! The duplicate redheaded boys loved to play pranks on anyone who would stand still long enough to be pranked, though they'd never been fast enough to catch Fawkes.

Maybe they'd taken his food to get back at him for being so perfect all the time. Fawkes wouldn't blame them. He was a phoenix, after all. He was the creation from a drop of sunlight, for Merlin's sake. His daily job was to spread the peace of the wild things across the magical lands of Hogwarts to keep the animals coexisting in the forest. He was so important, the ecosystem of the entire forest—and thus, the school—depended on him.

It was no surprise the clone boys were jealous of him.

He flew through the corridors, searching for the duplicates. He spotted them walking down a hallway, frog-marching a young first year up to Gryffindor Tower. A door banged behind them as they entered a new corridor.

"Going for a walk, are we?"

"Bit early for that, mate."

"Get lost on the way to the Common Room?"

"J-just wandering," the first year said.

"Oh, he was just _wandering,_ George."

"Not all who wander are lost, you know, Fred."

"And yet I seem to recall this particular fellow was supposed to meet us in the Common Room for testing."

"You're right. We did pay him in advance, after all."

The first-year whimpered.

"Relax, it isn't going to kill you." One boy held up a small sweet wrapped in silver foil. "This sweet should give you the symptoms of a high fever, and—hey!"

Fawkes had had enough. He swooped in, catching the sweet in his talons as he vanished out the other end of the hallway.

"That was ours!"

"Ruddy bird nicked it!"

Fawkes ignored the clamoring behind him as he flew into the sunlight again, heading for the roof. He quickly pecked open the sweet, searching for any sign of his missing food, but he could find none.

Feeling discouraged, he dropped the candy and set off for his next destination.

 _~fly~_

He soared into the Forbidden Forest, the dark woods closing around him. He was headed for the centaur camp. Usually, he'd have already flown by them to spread the song, but this Mystery of the Missing Phoenix Food was really taking his time. He wasn't sure if he'd have time to calm the wild animals and spread the peace now.

Fawkes grew more irritated as he passed by the hidden lake that usually housed the great Heron. Heron usually fed peacefully on the side of the lake, but today, it flew agitatedly above the waters, lunging and biting at any animals that came near it.

Fawkes wanted to stop and calm Heron, but there was no time. He pressed on, determined to get answers from the centaurs about where his missing food had gone. Once he had his food back, he could go back and complete his daily routine.

The centaurs, however, were nowhere to be found. They were not anywhere near their camp, and Fawkes had to turn back, defeated. He was so exhausted from the long day of flying and the absence of his food that he feared he wouldn't make it back to his perch.

Could his millennia of the peaceful song be coming to an end because of this mysterious change in food?

* * *

 _~sleep~_

Fawkes landed on his perch with a tired _thump._ Dumbledore was sitting at his desk; he looked up when Fawkes came back.

"Ah, Fawkes, you're finally back! Usually, your daily song takes less time. Was there a fight amongst the animals you had to settle? It does seem to me that today was a particular moody one."

Fawkes rolled his eyes. _That's because I didn't get to sing my song! I had to solve the mystery of my missing food instead. Which, I failed to do!_

Dumbledore studied Fawkes. "I'm not sure I understood all that birdsong. I do believe you mentioned missing food? Fawkes, your food is right there in your bowl."

Fawkes glared at the green stuff that still invaded his food bowl.

 _That is_ not _my food._

"But of course it is! I thought I'd remembered to tell you. I was reading an article the other day about phoenix food, and apparently your old brand is unhealthy and will actually shorten the time between your burning periods. Now, this of course is—"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!" One of the portraits had run into frame, panting heavily. "They're all talking about it. The Thestrals and Centaurs are fighting out on the Great Lawn! They've gone absolutely wild!"

Dumbledore stood quickly. "Fawkes, I'll need you to sing a quick version of the Peace of the Wild Things for me to calm them all down. Now!"

With the last of his strength, Fawkes flew to the window, opening his beak and breathing out his beautiful evening song.

As the song flowed from him and spread across the campus, everyone within the borders of Hogwarts stilled. The centaurs cleared their minds and went back to their camp, and the thestrals went back to searching for raw meat.

Dumbledore stroked Fawkes' back. "I'm sorry for changing your food without warning. I'll get you the old food tomorrow. However, it would be helpful if you would just eat the new food instead of going on a giant detective hunt for it. Much less dramatic, you know, and with Harry Potter around Hogwarts… well, it can get dramatic enough."

Fawkes looked up at Dumbledore and held his gaze for nearly four seconds before bursting into flame.

"Oh, Fawkes," Dumbledore said as Fawkes felt his body began to shrivel and shrink. His feathers went up in a plume of smoke; his valleyed skin was melting into liquid and glossing over into a new, smooth set. The heat didn't bother him—it was almost soothing—and when the smoke cleared, a brand-new baby Fawkes hopped from his perch to Dumbledore's desk and chirped.

"Eat your food, Fawkes," said Dumbledore.

With a little sigh of disdain, Fawkes lowered his head into his bowl and began to nibble.

At least the mystery of the missing phoenix food was solved. Tomorrow, he'd be back on track with his daily mantra:

 _Eat. Fly. Sing. Fly. Sleep._


	4. Being Brave

**Fairy Tale Challenge (DAII)**

Red Riding Hood - Write about bravery. Alternatively, write about Lily Evans.

 **Quidditch League:** Harpies, Chaser 2

Mod!Head canon, Ron and Hermione almost kissed three times before they actually did in the books.

Optional Prompts:

5\. (restriction) No using a '?'

6\. (word) Piano

7\. (image) Daisy Chain Bracelet

Word Count: 1,321 (Pages)

 **Percy Jackson Challenge:**

Polyphemus: Write about someone looking for love.

 _"Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear; The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all."_

 _-Meg Cabot_

* * *

It was funny, Ron thought as he sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, how little of a Gryffindor he'd felt at school. Constantly overlooked as "just another Weasley," overshadowed by Harry's fame . . . no, Ron had not stood out in any way. Courage had evaded him throughout his school years. And yet here he was, planning to break into the Ministry of Magic to steal a Horcrux with two of the most wanted people in Wizarding Britain.

If he was being perfectly honest, Ron didn't consider this "courageous" at all—he was terrified out of his wits. Watching Hermione, who was bustling around the kitchen packing their bags and studying charts and diagrams like her life depended on it (which, Ron supposed, it did), he didn't think he'd ever be as strong and courageous as she was. She looked like a Valkyrie, the way she fiercely prepared for everything.

Merlin, he loved her so much.

Soon after arriving home from his sixth year, he'd asked his Dad how he'd worked up the courage to ask out Mum. He'd chuckled and cast a knowing glance over to where Hermione sat talking with Ginny.

"Son, it wasn't really working up the courage to ask her. It was more knowing I would never forgive myself if I didn't."

Ron didn't find that advice very helpful.

 _Just do it, Ron. Do something nice for her for a change._

Before he could give himself time to think, he'd pushed back his chair and moved to her side. "Hermione, slow down," he said, grabbing her hands and forcing her into stillness.

"I—"

"—have checked over everything at least three times. We're going to be fine. You know us; we always manage to pull through." He tugged at her hands gently.

She took a few steps backward. "Ron…"

"You can take a break. Come on, come teach me how to play the piano again." He grinned at her, leading her towards the old piano they'd found in Sirius' living room.

She sat down on the right side of the bench, leaving room for him beside her. Her slender fingers glided over the keys easily as she tried to show his clumsy appendages what to do.

"No, no, like this," she said, laughing as his fingers hit the wrong notes. She leaned in, her cheek almost brushing against his as she placed her hand over his. She turned to look at him, the laughter dying in her eyes as a question rose in them instead.

 _Just do it, Ron._

His eyes flicked towards her lips, and he swallowed. He leaned in a little closer.

 _Bang!_

They sprang apart as the front door slammed open, both of them drawing their wands (Ron cursed as his elbow hit the piano) and racing to see who the intruder was.

Only until after Lupin had identified himself did Ron remember what had been about to happen, but when he tried to catch Hermione's eye, she made an excuse and went back to packing.

* * *

Being Splinched in front of Hermione had been one of the most humiliating experiences of his life (it barely beat out being nearly poisoned by Slughorn's bloody wine—what a lame way to go). Being nursed back to health by her, however, was turning out to be better than expected.

They were both sitting inside the tent, Ron on the lower bunk and Hermione in a chair next to him with a mug of hot cocoa. Harry was outside keeping watch with the Horcrux, so the two of them were warm, relaxed, and as burden-free as they could be when on the run for their lives.

She was telling him about her parents. Ron remembered the Grangers, though he hadn't seen them often—the few times they'd gone to Diagon Alley, they had been awed by the magic and wonder of the hidden world.

"Mum used to make hot cocoa like this whenever I was scared, or upset." Tears began to leak from her eyes. Hermione gave no indication that she knew she was crying.

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Hermione. . . ." He started to climb out of bed, but with his arm was in a sling, there was not much comforting he could do. He inched over so there was room on the bed for one more and motioned with his good arm. "Come here."

She moved next to him, her head leaning against his shoulder, her face slightly upturned towards his.

 _Just do it. Be brave._

Taking a deep breath, he leaned down and—

"Brr, it's cold outside! Hermione, it's your turn to take watch," Harry said as he walked back into the tent.

Hermione squeaked and sprang out of the bed.

Harry raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

"I'm fine, Harry!" she said, her voice an octave higher than its usual timbre.

"Didn't say you weren't," Harry said as Hermione snatched the Horcrux from his hand and bolted out the tent door. "Something is seriously wrong with her," Harry said to Ron.

Ron managed to smile despite the disappointment beating a hole in his chest.

* * *

After the exhausting ordeal with the dragon in Gringotts, the three of them took a much-needed break. As soon as they'd set up the tent and their protective charms, Harry had immediately retreated inside, claiming exhaustion and a headache.

Hermione sat in the field of flowers a few yards away from the tent. Ron slid down next to her, watching her pluck small white daisies and steadily weave their stems together.

"Flower chain," she said, answering his questioning gesture. "Used to make them all the time when I was small." She motioned for him to hold his wrist out, and he obliged, watching as she slipped it around his wrist and tied the end.

He slid his hand into hers, interlocking their fingers together.

Their eyes met. He saw the conflicting emotions in hers, and his heart began to pound.

"You know, I always wondered why the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor. I didn't feel as brave as you and Harry always were. So many times I found myself wishing that we could have a normal year at Hogwarts."

"We all wished it. Even Harry."

Ron glanced down at their entwined hands, "You always made me feel brave, Hermione." He reached out with his free hand, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

She swallowed, breathing quickening as he leaned in closer. He was really going to do it this time, he was going to _kiss_ her, he was going to—

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry bolted from the tent, and the two sprang apart once again.

" _Damn_ it, Harry," Ron muttered. Hermione smirked and opened her mouth to say something, but then Harry was shouting something about a Horcrux at Hogwarts, something of Ravenclaw's, and before Ron could get Hermione alone again, they'd turned on the spot and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

* * *

 _DO IT, RON, MERLIN. JUST DO IT ALREADY, DO IT, DO IT, DO IT—_

"Ron was really quite brilliant—"

"Always the tone of surprise with you."

And then, without either of them seeming to have moved, they were in each other's arms, lips pressed together and basilisk fangs scattered on the floor.

Harry was yelling something, but Ron couldn't hear the words, all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, or maybe that was Hermione's heartbeat—

"Oi! There's a war going on here!"

Ron pulled back sheepishly. "I know, mate. So it's now or never." He slipped an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

She leaned into his embrace, and suddenly Ron felt invincible.

* * *

Later on, when it was all over and he had time to lie in bed and replay that first kiss in his mind, he wondered how he'd finally found the courage to kiss her.

"She's more important than fear," he whispered aloud, and for the first time in his life, he felt like a Gryffindor.


	5. The Choice

Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Round 6

Holyhead Harpies, Chaser 2

Write about a dark character demonstrating the virtue of diligence.

1\. (object) swear jar

2\. (dialogue) "I only came because I was told there was going to be cake."

12\. (setting) number 12, Grimmauld Place

Word Count: 1,939

* * *

"Bella! Dinnertime." Mum rapped on my bedroom door.

"Really? Now?" I looked up from the magazine. I'd snitched it from Sirius' room within moments of arriving at 12 Grimmauld Place for our annual family reunion, and I knew getting caught with it would be bad on all levels. Not only would my parents be angry that I was looking at a Muggle magazine, but Sirius would know I'd been snooping, and he'd start being more diligent in hiding them.

"Yes. Now!" Mum's voice was slightly louder than before.

I shoved the magazine under my pillow and rolled off the bed, mussing my hair as I went to the door. "I'm up." I kept my trademark scowl plastered to my face as I sauntered past her and headed towards the dining room. With a sigh, my mother followed me down the stairs.

* * *

About five minutes into dinner, I had to admit that I was not the best rebellious member of the Black family. That title could only fall to Sirius, who, despite receiving the same warnings as I, had still not shown up to dinner.

Just when I thought Aunt Walburga was going to explode in anger, he sauntered through the door, black hair mussed into an after-shag look, barefoot, and wearing a Beatles shirt. I wasn't sure who the Beatles were, exactly, but knowing Sirius, they were probably Muggle-related.

Aunt Walburga's screeching confirmed my assumption. "Sirius Orion Black, how dare you flaunt that Muggle abomination at the dinner table. Especially when we have guests! Take it off at once."

A cat-like grin spread across his face as he paused, clearly enjoying how angry his mother was. "If you insist, Walburga," he said, and then he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, lazily dropping it on the floor as he tossed his now half-naked body into the chair. "Hey, cuz," he said, throwing a wink in the general direction of me and my sisters.

Narcissa's cheeks were flaming red, and one look told me she felt the same rush of heat I did. I could tell why so many girls at Hogwarts were into him; at sixteen, he could make dirty laundry appear sexy.

Aunt Walburga's face turned a brilliant shade of puce. " _Go. To. Your. Room._ "

Sirius laughed as he stood back up. "No problem, Wally. I only came because I was told there was going to be cake." He stood, slowly stretching his arms up. The hem of his jeans rode low, and I bit my lip as I tried not to stare.

He caught my eye as he turned to leave. "Later, Bella," he said with another wink, and I shivered.

I didn't hear another word all night.

* * *

"Bella, Mum wants a word," Narcissa said as she came into our room after dinner. I shoved the magazine back under the bed, but not fast enough. "Are you looking at one of Sirius' magazines again? You know Mum won't like that."

"I don't care if Mum doesn't like it."

"Trying to get a rise out of Sirius by nicking his things, then?"

"Just trying to get him in trouble." Even to my ears, my excuse sounded half-hearted.

Narcissa didn't buy it. "You've got a crush on Sirius. Admit it."

I shrugged. "I wouldn't say it's a crush. More like an 'I want to jump your bones' feeling every time I see him."

"He's our cousin."

"So? Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion are cousins, and they got married. I just want to shag him. Is that really so bad?"

Narcissa scowled. "Bella, you know Mum and Dad will never approve. Sirius, despite being the heir to the Black family, is going to get himself disowned like Andro—" She cut herself off. "He'll be disowned by the time he's of age. Besides—that thing Mum wants to talk to you about? It's marriage."

My blood ran cold. Mum wanting to talk about marriage meant she'd found someone for me to marry. Marriage meant I'd be stuffed into some pureblood home, expected to run a household and give birth to more pureblood children.

It also meant I would probably never reach greatness—not in the way I wanted to. The Dark Lord didn't let married women into his Inner Circle unless they were married to someone already inside his Inner Circle.

"Best not keep her waiting, Bella," Narcissa said. I nodded once before heading out the door.

* * *

"Bellatrix, I wanted to talk to you about your future."

I sighed. "Mum, we both know you want to talk about who I'm going to marry. So, did you find some nice pureblood Slytherin who will be able to tame my rebellious ways?"

Mum gave me a stern look for interrupting. "Actually, I did better. Rodolphus Lestrange has asked for your hand in marriage."

I sat there, flabbergasted. "Rodolphus? He's one of the Dark Lord's most trusted followers. He wants to marry _me_?"

Mum nodded. "On one condition, though. He wants you to remain pure until your marriage."

"I am pure."

Mum met my eyes. "For now. But I must caution you: be wary of Sirius. He will do anything he can to break apart our family, and you'll have to choose between your attraction to him and your marriage prospects."

I refused to let myself swallow. "I don't—"

"I saw the way you looked at each other at dinner."

I looked at the floor.

"Listen." Mum leaned forward and took my hands. "With you at Rodolphus' side, the Black family can rise in the Dark Lord's new order. We cannot risk losing that opportunity. I must ask you to practice diligence in this matter. Do not let yourself be alone with Sirius. Do not flirt with him, do not look at him, do not speak to him if you can help it. Do you understand?"

The "Yes, Mother" fell from my lips before I had time to think about it.

* * *

Narcissa was already asleep by the time I went back upstairs, so I slipped out again and settled myself into a window seat on the third-floor stairwell. The sky was clear tonight, and the moon and stars were easily visible.

I tore my eyes from the sky when something floppy dropped into my lap.

"Found this under your pillow after dinner," a voice said, and I realized Sirius had just thrown the magazine I'd 'borrowed' into my lap and was now standing there.

"Why were you in my room?"

"It's my house." Sirius looked me up and down appraisingly. "I didn't realize you were into Muggle porn."

"Fuck off, Sirius."

Sirius grinned, conjuring a jar and holding it in front of me.

I leaned away. "What's this?"

"A swear jar. You pay up every time you say something naughty. Put a Knut in the swear jar."

"I can say whatever I want. Besides, I didn't ask for you to come bother me with your Muggle trash and your silly swear jars."

He rolled his eyes, dropping both items to the ground before sitting next to me. I edged closer to the window, realizing he had trapped me in. I was considering making a run for it when he snapped the curtains closed, effectively closing us into the small alcove. "I don't want to talk about my magazines or the swear jar. I want to talk about dinner."

"What about dinner?"

"You want me."

I swallowed. So he had noticed. "That's disgusting, Sirius. You're my cousin."

"So? My parents are cousins, which technically makes Reg and me third cousins as well as brothers. It's not that weird to think about it. Besides, you're pretty hot. I want to see if you live up to the graffiti on the walls at Hogwarts."

I flushed red. While I'd never had sex with any of the boys back at Hogwarts, I wasn't exactly pure.

"So?" He was leaning closer to me, and I scooted back, trying desperately to keep my mind in control of my body. My back hit the wall, but Sirius came closer still, placing a hand on either side of my body, pinning me into place. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered into it, "Think of how angry our parents will be."

I bit my lip, but his statement reminded me of the stakes. As much as my body wanted this, I knew it could never happen.

"No." I pushed him away. "I won't sleep with you, Sirius. If I do, I can say goodbye to my betrothal to Rodolphus Lestrange and goodbye to my future with the Dark Lord. I'll say goodbye to the small amount of power a woman of my class can receive, and I'm not throwing all that away just to have a quick shag with you."

"You're choosing that over me?" He looked flabbergasted.

"I have to."

"You don't. Not if you don't want to." His eyes were bright. "You don't have to be brainwashed by this crazy family."

"Sirius—"

"Just listen." He glanced out the window. "It's only a matter of time until Walburga disowns me. I don't have to be entirely without family. You can get out of here with me. We'll get a nice apartment, and I'll work as an Auror, and you can do whatever you want."

I wrinkled my nose. "I want to shag you, not marry you."

He laughed. "Still, you can come anyway. You'll have more than power. You'll have freedom."

I sighed, sorely tempted by his offer. "You know I can't do that." I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, grasping my wrist. In one fluid motion, he was on his feet. He pressed his forehead to mine, staring at me intently.

"Just come with me. _Please_."

For the first time, I thought about how lonely it must be to be the only Gryffindor in a family filled with Slytherins. We might have disagreed on almost everything, from books to spells to political views, but he was still family, even if we rarely treated him as such.

However, I had to think of my new family. My future family.

"I'm sorry, Sirius." I walked away.

* * *

Five years passed before we spoke of it again. I saw him, head hung low when the dementors directed him to the cell next to mine. He threw back his head and laughed when he saw me, and I heard pain in his voice.

We didn't speak for the first few days. I kept dreaming of the day the Dark Lord would rise again, and Sirius kept mumbling about how he 'didn't do it.' I didn't care what he did or didn't do. Sirius was my road not taken.

"Bella."

For a second, I didn't think he was speaking to me, but when he called my name a second time, I turned around. He was older now, a little more war-torn, a little more burdened. We all were. "What?"

"Do you think any of this would've happened if we'd run away together?"

I thought back over the last five years. My wedding night, where I learned that my husband loved men more than women. The first Death Eater meeting I attended. The first time I shared a bed with the Dark Lord. The power I'd felt when I made even him scream out my name.

I'd done as my mother had said. I was diligent in my path, avoiding Sirius at all costs after that night.

I'd _succeeded._

"It wouldn't have happened, Sirius," I said, my voice cold and hard. "But I still wouldn't change a single moment of it."


	6. September 1st

**Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies**

S.S. Flaming Fireworks (George Weasley/Angelina Johnson)

4\. (poem) 'A Late Walk' by Robert Frost

12\. (word) mist

15\. (word) scarf

 **WC: 2206**

 _i. Denial_

They'd had plans for September 1st.

He walked the Hogwarts grounds in the dusk, watching the students clamber out of their carriages—and for the first time in his life, George could see the thestrals that pulled them—and race up the to the castle for the Welcome Feast. He and Fred had never been among the hurriers. They'd preferred to hang back and discuss their annual back-to-school prank without prying prefects overhearing.

They began small, those pranks: Dungbombs in train compartments, exploding powders in toilets, switching Chocolate Frogs for real frogs they'd charmed brown. Amateur stuff, really. It wasn't until third year that they'd progressed to switching the feast desserts with their own products. In a way, it helped them weed out those whom they could trust and those whom they couldn't. Those beginning pranks helped them learn who would rat them out and who would laugh along with them. That was how they'd befriended Angelina.

George scuffed the leaves as he walked down the path toward the lake. Hagrid was weeding his garden, and George waved at him as he walked by, giving the half-giant a cheeky grin. Hagrid glanced at him, peering into his vegetable garden as if he expected George to have thrown something amongst the leaves.

"Fred, remember—" He paused, heart wrenching in pain. For a moment, he'd forgotten that Fred was no longer with him. George stopped at the edge of the lake, tears threatening to splash into the waters below. Four months. It would be four months tomorrow.

"George?"

He swiped at his eyes, turning to see who had joined him. "Angelina. What are you doing here?"

He watched her try to smile. "I had to see it full again. With students." Angelina glanced down at her feet, fidgeting with the ends of her scarf.

"Oh."

"Why are you here?"

George shrugged. "Fred. I thought he'd stayed behind as a ghost, or something, or. . . . Well, I was wrong."

Angelina sighed, moving to stand next to her him. Laying her head on his shoulder, she wrapped her hand around his and squeezed. "Is there anything I can do?"

He wrapped his arm around her, and they stood there, watching the mist rise off the Black Lake, for so long that he lost track of time. "Just being here is enough," he said finally. She snuggled deeper into his side as the tears slipped off his cheeks.

 _ii. Anger_

The tree.

"Fuck!"

They'd made _plans_ under that tree—prank plans, life plans, plans for a future that one of them wouldn't get to have—and now the tree was here, a few inches taller, as if it had not noticed, as if it did not _care_ —

"FUCK!" He kicked at the tree's trunk, trying to knock it down, trying to kill it

"George!"

He turned. He hadn't heard that voice in a year, but he still knew it.

There was a different scarf wrapped around her neck this time, and her hair was pulled into a tight bun. She was leaner, stronger, but the bags beneath her eyes were just as deep as they'd been on the last September 1st. "George, stop it."

"No!" He kicked the tree again. "Fuck!"

"George! _George_!" She grabbed his fists as he wound up to punch, whipping him around to stare into his eyes. "George, listen to me. Stop hitting the tree and listen."

"What, Angelina? What do you even want? Why are you here?"

She crossed her arms and frowned. "Don't take this out on me. I'm not the one you're angry with."

"Yeah, I'm angry with you!" He was breathing hard. "You're always bloody _here_. I'm trying to grieve my bloody brother. _Alone_. Why d'you think I come here in September? I can't face May 2nd. I can't take the pitying looks. But here you are anyway, with your sad doe eyes! 'Oh, look at poor, sad George Weasley, mourning for his poor dead brother. Oh, pity him, pity him!'"

"George Weasley, you be quiet!" She shoved him. "I don't pity you!"

"Yes, you—" he started, but she drew her wand and sent a Silencing spell straight into his face.

"No. It's my turn to talk. I loved Fred. You know I did. He was my best friend before I even knew what a best friend could be. I never did _anything_ without the two of you. Don't you remember? You don't think I miss him?" She paused, her face melting into something else. It wasn't pity, and George didn't really know what it was. "You're angry. I'm angry, too. He shouldn't have died. He was reckless. You both were. We _all_ were."

He sank to the ground, sobbing silent tears into his hands.

"I don't feel sorry for you," she said as she sat next to him. "We both lost him."

She released him from the Silencing spell, and he heard himself take a shuddery breath. "You're right, Angelina. Of course, you're right. Is there anything you don't know?"

She chuckled softly. "I wish I knew where to go from here."

"Meet me for coffee tomorrow," he said suddenly.

She glanced at him. "All right."

"You make things better. Easier. Maybe we can get through this mess the same way we always got through things at Hogwarts."

"Together?"

"Yeah. Together."

She smiled. "Sure. Why not? Together."

 _iii. Bargaining_

"I'd give anything for one more day like that with him, you know?"

Angelina blew on her coffee and took a careful sip. "So would I."

"I wish it had been me." George swirled his cup. "I've never told anyone that."

"Don't think like that." Angie leaned forward, grabbing his hand. "Nothing we can do can bring him back."

"I know." George got up from the table, throwing some bills on the table.

Angelina slipped her hand into his as they left. "George?"

"Yeah?"

"This is our fourth September 1st."

He looked over his shoulder at the coffee house. "Yeah."

"I don't want a fifth."

He smirked. "Stop showing up at Hogwarts on September 1st, then."

"That's not what I meant." She took a deep breath. "Seeing you once a year isn't enough."

"It's a bit weird, I s'pose. But you could always stop by the joke shop. You know where it is."

She stopped walking. "Did I ever tell you why I broke up with Fred back in sixth year?"

He shook his head. "Fred said you couldn't handle his manliness, but somehow I'm not sure that's the actual reason."

She smirked. "He didn't have a mole behind his ear."

George paused. "So . . . moles turn you on, or something?"

Angelina met George's eye. "Not quite." She swallowed. "George. I'm trying to tell you something."

"You'll have to try a bit harder, then, because all I'm hearing is that you have a mole fetish."

"He didn't have that mole."

"Oh, now it's crystal clear."

"You _do_ have that mole."

George felt his eyes widen. "You and Fred broke up because you liked me instead?"

She nodded. "I liked you instead."

George shook his head. "No. You're Fred's. You were always Fred's. It didn't matter how I felt. You were Fred's." He dropped her hand, backing away quickly.

"George. Hey. George! Wait!" Angelina ran after him, pushing people out of her way, but he turned on his heel and Apparated before she could catch up.

 _iv. Depression_

"Angelina Floo-called for you," his mum said, peeking into the room George was sharing with Charlie. Everyone was at the Burrow for Christmas, and the small house was packed with people.

"That's nice."

"Third time this week."

"I can count."

"Don't be rude to me, George Weasley."

George rolled over to face the wall. His mum sighed and closed the door.

His depression lasted well into the next spring. Although he was surrounded by friends and family, none could get the joking George Weasley back. His presence became a rare appearance at the joke shop, and at family gatherings, he was silent and cut off, if he even showed up at all.

"I'm not sure what to do," George overheard Bill saying to Ginny in May. They both glanced over to where George sat in the corner, and then quickly look away when they noticed him glaring back. "He was doing so well."

"What's wrong with him?" George heard Ron ask. "He's been like this since September. I thought he was beginning to get past everything."

Bill sighed. "This isn't about Fred."

"It's not?"

"It's about Angelina Johnson." Ginny took a sip of her butterbeer. "He still thinks of her as Fred's girlfriend."

"Oh." Ron looked confused. "Didn't realize George was so involved in Fred's love life."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron."

 _v. Acceptance_

The morning of September 1st dawned crisp and cool. George woke with the sun blazing into his window, but he waved his wand and shut the blinds, blocking out the light. He was just drifting off to sleep again when his door flew open, the blinds flew back, and the bedcovers were yanked off sharply.

George opened his eyes to the sight of Percy's face. "You're bloody lucky I don't sleep naked, mate."

"Get up," Percy said stiffly, but George was pleased to see his brother's face turning pink.

"What do you want, Percy?" George scrubbed at his eyes. "How'd you even get into my flat?"

"You shouldn't be here."

George sat up and quirked an eyebrow. "I live here, actually."

"It's September 1st."

"Is it? Well, that just changes everything, doesn't it? I'd better run if I'm going to catch the Hogwarts Express by eleven o'clock! Oh, wait, _that's_ right, I'm not a bloody teenager anymore."

Percy didn't acknowledge the sarcasm. "You always go to Hogwarts on September 1st."

George laid back down. "Not this time."

"Angelina's there."

George sat up again and glared at Percy. "You know, Percy, you've got a particular talent for making people who are sad feel even sadder. Have you ever considered the possibility that there's Dementor blood in you?"

"I know she told you about her feelings last year."

"How does everyone _know_ about that?"

"I know you return the feelings."

George sighed. "She's Fred's."

"Fred is gone, George." Percy shook his head. "And he'd want you to be with her."

George's head snapped up. "How do you know that? How _could_ you know that?"

Percy shrugged. "He'd want you to be happy."

George closed his eyes. "I don't even know what to do."

"It's September 1st. You know what to do."

 _i. Love_

She was waiting under the tree, watching the mist curl off the lake. The leaves above her head were brown and dry, and every so often one would drift toward the ground. He paused, looking for something to hold so she wouldn't see how badly his hands were shaking. His gaze fell upon the blue aster that dotted the ground, and he picked a sprig that didn't look too faded.

"Angelina?"

She turned, scarf knotted tightly and hands in pockets. "I was starting to think you wouldn't come."

"I wasn't going to."

"What changed your mind?"

George shrugged. "Fred."

She looked out over the lake. "So. Here we are."

George licked his lips. "I came back to Hogwarts that first September 1st to remember Fred. And after that . . . I came back to see you." He scuffed his toe on the ground, struggling to find the next words. "I really missed you this past year. I need you, Angelina. I love you."

He stopped, finally looking at her, and then thrust the flower in his hands towards her.

Blinking back tears, she slowly took it. Without a word, she threw herself into his arms. He pressed his lips to hers, grinning against them.

He was at peace.


	7. The Imperfect Future

**Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies**

What Happens to Hogwarts?

6\. (creature) centaur

9\. (song) 'Everytime We Touch' by Cascada

10\. (quote) 'It's my turn to show you a sight you've never seen before' - Haruka Nanase, _Free!_

 **WC: 1243**

 _A/N: If you're my QL judge, have some virtual chocolate, because this is very sad and you have to read it. If you're not my QL judge and you're looking for some typical, Mel-fashioned fluff... This is a story about what happens to Hogwarts if Voldy wins. Keep an eye out for the inevitable KBOW fluff that I'll be writing to cheer myself up after this one._

* * *

Bane knows the moment the Curse strikes Harry Potter in the chest, killing him for real this time. He falls upon his forelegs as visions of the future come rushing towards him.

"Bane!" _"Bane!"_ "Are you alright?" "What's happened?" he hears various voices cry, but he blindly strikes out at empty air, trying to motion away the centaurs he knows are crowding around his fallen form.

The only way out of these visions is through them.

He gasps as fragments of futures started filtering through.

 _A blonde haired woman, racing through the Forbidden Forest, blue eyes wide with terror, followed closely by a young man firing spells over his shoulder at some unseen terror behind them._

 _The man stumbles over a tripwire, triggering a magical wall that hurls him backwards. The blonde stops, unwilling to continue without him, but the man waves her forward from the other side of the magic and shouts for her to run._

 _"Go! Katie, run! It's you they're after, they won't hurt me once they realize who I am. Just go!"_

 _She runs, but something tells Bane there's more than one trap in the forest now._

As the vision dissolves, Bane feels a wetness on his cheeks that he hadn't realized was there. His beautiful forest was destined to be taken over by the monsters storming the castle?

He slumps forward as another vision takes hold in his mind.

* * *

 _Bane recognizes the redhead as the youngest Weasley girl. He remembers catching glimpses of her during detentions in the forest, and he is saddened to see how broken she is now. She sits on the floor of a common room cloaked in green. There is an iron collar around her neck and she rocks back and forth on her knees, straining against the chain that is bolted to the wall behind her._

 _Currently, she is alone in the room, but she seems to be holding an animated conversation with no one in particular._

 _"I miss you, Harry," she whispers, her fractured gaze not seeing the room in front of her. "With you, it was all bearable. I remember how happy your kisses made me. Your voice haunts me in my dreams. I just wish I could feel your touch one last time, hold you one last—"_

 _The door bangs open and Slytherin students pour into the room, laughing and pointing at the young woman on the ground._

 _"Hey, Weaselette," one of them says, gripping her arm and shoving her to her feet. The redhead looks down, saying nothing. Seeing the fight gone from her eyes is what hurts Bane the most in this vision. He'd always admired how much of a spitfire she was._

 _"We learned the Cruciatus Curse today. Care to see how good of a student I really am?"_

 _The girl whimpers, but soon her whimpers are turning to screams of pain as the students gather around, laughing at her cries._

 _The vision begins to fade, thankfully, leaving Bane with one last clear view of the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the boy's robes._

 _The entire thing is embroidered in green._

* * *

Firenze arrives at the centaur camp shortly after they dragged Bane into the shade of a tent. He limps into the clearing, head hung low and blood flowing from a deep cut in his flank. The hoof-shaped scar on his chest is marred by three bloody slashes.

The other centaurs gaze at their fallen brother, but no one stops him. In times like these, with their leader overcome with horrifying visions and the castle falling to pure evil, even the centaurs can forgive past grievances.

"Harry Potter is dead," Firenze says, voice heavy with grief. "The castle has fallen to the Dark Lord and his followers. Those who have managed to escape alive won't be seen in the near future."

He finally looks up, daring to meet the gaze of those he once called brothers and sisters. "They will soon come for us as well."

No one moves.

"Celeste," he calls out, and a centaur woman trots forward, her blonde-white coat gleaming in the starlight. "Where is Bane?"

"Inside the tent. He is overcome with visions of the future. We are not sure how long he will be indisposed."

Firenze nods. "I shall wait by his side, then, so that I may give him my urgent news the moment he is capable of hearing it."

He gallops into the tent, stopping only when he sees a thrashing Bane lying on the floor. Settling on his knees, he tentatively reaches out a hand and places it on the other centaur's shoulder.

"Bane. My brother, be at peace. It is I, Firenze. I have come back to you," he whispers, and Bane's thrashing pauses as his vision clears a bit.

"Firenze," he says, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He notices the mark on his chest. "It appears that the fates have forgiven you. My brand has been overruled,"

Firenze glances down, then back up at the older centaur. "What do you see?"

"It is too heartbreaking to explain."

"Shall I show you the events of the Battle?"

"No, Firenze. It's my turn to show you a sight you've never seen before. Take my hand." He holds his palm out to Firenze, who takes it after a moment. "Now, close your eyes. I shall take you into my visions and show you what is to become of our beautiful home."

As everything fades to black, all Firenze can feel is the tremble of Bane's hand in his.

* * *

 _He sees a war zone._

 _The castle is shrouded in a bleak mist that seems to suck the color from the rest of the grounds as it swirls around the top spires. Across the front lawn, students march in double file, all dressed in black and all wearing the Slytherin crest. Upon closer notice, he sees that it is a version of the Hogwarts crest, but the only house represented is that of the Parseltongue._

 _At the head of the crowd stand some of Voldemort's head Death Eaters, grinning like cats as they stand before a stage._

 _The students stop and one of the Death Eaters stands. "We're here today to witness what happens to children who steal magic. When the Dark Lord took reign, he swore to stamp out the Mudbloods who dared to join our society. So far, he has performed admirably in that task." There is a pause, but no one moves._

 _"Each May 2nd, on the day the Dark Lord claimed power over the Usurper, he has sworn to honor the bravest, the most daring member of Hogwarts students…"_

 _Firenze's mind is whirring with the horrors that begin to play out before him. He watches as students duel each other, then teachers, then, as one student shines from all the rest, as they set the last task: murdering a Muggle-born child, one just turned eleven._

 _The little girl's eyes are blank as she falls to the floor, a cheer rising from the gathered crowd as her murderer takes a victory lap._

The vision ends, and Firenze and Bane finally look at each other, the full impact of what they've seen hitting them.

It's become a killing zone, his beloved school. He doesn't realize there are tears streaming down his face until Bane reaches up and wipes them away.

He's beginning to wish he'd perished on the battlefield.

If this is the future, he wants no part of it.


	8. The Afterlife

**Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies**

The Lion King

9\. (quote) 'If you smile when no one else is around, you really mean it' - Andy Rooney

11\. (restriction) Exactly three characters must feature

13\. (song) 'Fireflies' by Owl City (specifically the line "Everything is never as it seems")

* * *

 _May 3rd, 1997_

 _The Afterlife_

"Remus! Glad you could join us!"

Remus slid into the seat between his two best friends, raising an eyebrow at the mounds of candy in Sirius' lap. He looked youthful again, with a big grin on his face.

"Sirius. You're looking well…er, well, you know, considering how dead you are."

Sirius snorted. "Thanks, mate. That was tactful."

Remus grinned. "So this is what the afterlife looks like?"

"Well, not always. It can look like whatever you want it to look like. We just happened to want it to be a movie theater today."

Remus glanced over at James, who wore a grin that was nearly identical to Sirius'. Remus knew those looks. They were plotting something.

"But what if I wanted it to look like a library?"

"Why would you want to do that?" Sirius leaned back in his seat. "That's so boring."

"Hush, Padfoot. We knew Moony would ask a lot of questions when he died."

"Yeah, well, he needs to slow down." Sirius took a long sip from the large soda in his cup holder. "If he asks too many more I'll lose the bet."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "You bet on how many questions I would ask?"

James waved his hand in the air, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "That's not the point, Moony. If you really wanted it to be a library, you could make it look like a library. It's a bit confusing, and honestly, I sort of ignore the specifics, but you're welcome to have a nice nerdy chat about it with my wife after we catch the film."

"The film?"

"Of course!" Sirius grinned at his two friends. "You see, Moony, when I arrived here a few years ago, Prongs and I had some pretty major catching up to do. But eventually we ran out of relevant subjects to talk about, and so we began discussing you."

"I'm relevant!"

"Of course you are, Moony, of course you are." Sirius patted Remus on the back. "Anyway, I told Prongs about that film I saw back when I was pretending to be a Muggle to avoid Ministry detection: The Lion King."

"Oh." Remus rolled his eyes. " _This_ again."

"I told Prongs about how terribly rude you were when I wanted you to watch it with me at Grimmauld Place."

"Sirius, it's a movie about giant cats. Why would I like that? Why would _you_ like it? You literally turn into a dog once a month."

"But they're _lions_." Sirius pointed to the giant blank screen on the wall. "Like Gryffindors. And I happen to think that the Lion King is a classic film that everyone should see, so here we are."

"But—"

"Hush! The movie's starting." Sirius elbowed Remus hard as the theater went dim.

"It's only starting because you decided you wanted it to start!"

"My afterlife, my rules."

"Just watch," James whispered as the opening credits began to roll. "It's quite good. He's made me watch it six or seven times."

Remus rolled his eyes but leaned back in his chair, resigning himself to this new torture. It almost felt like he was back in his youth, hanging out with James and Sirius like old times. They'd fallen into the familiar banter the moment he'd arrived. James had laughed and clapped him on the back, joyously welcoming him to the Afterlife, and Sirius had winked and flirted outrageously.

He was still trying to wrap his head around this whole "Afterlife" thing. It seemed like an odd dream; it was vivid, felt real and looked exactly like the living world, yet was also…not quite right. It was a place where everything was never as it seemed.

"Are you even paying attention to the movie?" Sirius hissed from beside him, and James chuckled as he glanced at Remus.

"Pads, he's got his thinking face on. What's on your mind, Moony?"

Remus shrugged, smiling a little. Whatever this place was, he was with his friends once more.

"Hey, hey, Prongs…Moony's smiling. It's like we're not even here."

"Do you think smiles count if no one knows you're smiling?"

"Of course, Prongs. If you smile when no one else is around, you really mean it."

"Or you're just insane."

"That, too."

The chatter slowed to a stop as the friends turned their attention back to the screen before them. Sirius grinned as the girl cub pinned down Simba.

"Pinned ya!" said the cub, and Sirius crowed with laughter.

Remus whacked him in the back of the head. "Shut up!"

Sirius gasped. "Did you hear that, Prongs?"

"I did." James was still watching the screen.

"Moony told me to shut up."

"I heard."

"That means he's trying to pay attention!"

"I know, Sirius. So am I."

Sirius dug his fist into a bag of popcorn that had magically appeared on the armrest. "I _knew_ you would like this film. Popcorn?"

Remus shook his head, eyes fixed on the screen. "I'll take a chocolate bar, though, if you've got any."

"Save the chocolate for later," James said. "You're going to need some cheering up in...oh, fifteen minutes or so."

"What?" Remus tore his eyes from the screen to look at James. "What do you mean? What's going to happen?"

"Spoilers!" Sirius clapped his hands over Remus' ears, earning him a hard kick. "No spoilers allowed! Moony has to watch on his own!"

Remus squirmed out of Sirius' grip. On the screen, Simba had started to sing about being king. "Don't listen to him. What's going to happen, Prongs?"

James pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Just watch."

Remus sighed and looked back up at the screen. "That Zazu fellow is a stick in the mud," he said as the toucan was trampled beneath hundreds of animals.

Sirius burst out laughing. "James and I have always said Zazu reminds us of you!"

Remus felt his cheeks grow warm, and he was thankful for the darkness of the theater. "Is that why I'm going to need chocolate? Is Zazu going to take over the film?"

"Erm...not exactly, mate."

Remus reached for a handful of Sirius' popcorn and watched as the lions danced.

"Scar reminds me of Snivellus," James said when the song ended and the dark-maned lion sauntered onto the screen and began to sing to a pack of hyenas.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance. "Severus has changed," Remus said.

"Yeah." James motioned for Sirius to hand him some popcorn. "So I've heard. Doesn't change the fact that he was a git to me in school."

Silence fell over the trio as the film progressed, and then suddenly Sirius was shoving something into Remus' hands. "Get ready, Moony."

Remus looked down. It was a chocolate bar. "But what—"

"Just watch."

Remus looked at the screen, mouth agape in horror, as Scar threw Mufasa from a cliff and into a herd of stampeding wildebeests.

Scar was laughing—Dolohov was laughing— _Avada kedavra_ —falling—green light—screaming—he hit the ground—where was Tonks— _laughter_ —

"Moony, are you all right?"

Remus gasped. The chocolate bar had been crunched into crumbs in his hands. "I'm fine," he said, releasing the chocolate. "I'm fine."

"Mate." Sirius looked concerned. "You're sobbing."

"I am?" Remus touched his face. His cheeks were wet. "Oh."

"Remus...it's just a movie."

"I know." Remus took a deep breath, one that tastes like Hogwarts dust. "It just reminded me a bit of my own...well, you know. Death."

James pointed at the screen. "It's about to get better, though. Simba's going to make some friends—"

"Timon and Pumbaa," Sirius said. "I'm Pumbaa. Prongs is Timon."

"Okay." Remus took another breath. "I don't know what that means. But okay."

James smiled gently. "Just watch."

They settled back into their seats. "Moony?" Sirius whispered.

"Yes, Padfoot?"

Sirius offered Remus another handful of popcorn. "Hakuna matata."

"Erm." Remus took the popcorn. "I don't know what that means, either."

Sirius smiled. "It means it gets better."


	9. Son

**Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies**

2\. (song) 'Hello' by Evanescence

9\. (quote) 'Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.' - Emily Bronte

11\. (dialogue) "I'm still here."

WC: 1,724

* * *

 _Year One_

Oliver Wood sees Arthur Weasley pat his third oldest son, Percy, on the shoulder. Arthur is smiling wide, tears glistening in his eyes. Oliver is just close enough to overhear the fatherly words that come next.

"Make me proud, son."

Percy nods before gruffly moving away from his mother's hugs and kisses, coming to a stop below Oliver's compartment window.

"Bye Mother! Bye Father! Don't cry, Ginny, I'll be back at Christmas."

Then the whistle is blowing and students are scrambling to get to their compartments, leaning out windows and waving at the parents standing below.

Oliver doesn't move. He has no one to wave to. His father doesn't say things like, "Make me proud."

His father doesn't even call him 'son.'

Percy ducks into Oliver's compartment, moving to the window to wave one last time at his family before the train pulls out of the station. As King's Cross fades from view, Percy plops down in front of his friend.

"Ham sandwich?"

Oliver doesn't reply, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, Percy sighs, pulls out a book, and opens it to page one.

* * *

 _Year Two_

Oliver is determined to make it onto the Quidditch team. He hadn't been allowed to play as a first year, but he's twelve now, and this time, things will be _different_.

It's pouring rain, which is a bit odd for the first week of September, but it doesn't stop Oliver. He's got the field to himself and Quidditch tryouts in a week; he can't allow a little rain to prevent him from practicing. He's even convinced Percy to teach him a clever little charm that makes Quaffle fly at the goalposts.

He's chasing after the Quaffle in question when he hears the voice.

"Oi! Mate! What are you doing out in this bloody storm?"

Oliver pauses, looking around. There, about ten yards in front of him, is a pearly-white figure floating in mid-air _without a broom_. It's nearly thirty seconds before Oliver realizes it's a ghost.

"Who're you?" he says, squinting through the rain. "I didn't know there were any ghosts who haunted the Quidditch Pitch."

The ghost raises his hand in a cheery wave. "Edgar Cloggs."

"No way." Oliver feels his jaw drop. "I know you. You've got a chocolate frog card. The youngest Chaser for the Tutshill Tornadoes."

Edgar grins. Oliver can see the rain pouring through his smile. "At your service."

"You had some of the highest stats in the League when you played." Oliver knows he's babbling, but he can't help it. _Edgar Cloggs_. "You died in a Quidditch accident at 23. What are you doing at Hogwarts?"

Edgar chuckles. "Hogwarts has always been my home. I haunted the Tutshill stadium for a bit, but I've found I quite prefer it here, where I can help youngsters like you. Well, with Quidditch. I'm not so great at helping students with their Herbology homework."

Oliver grips his broom as a gust of wind whips past. "You help people?"

"I do my best."

"Could you help me with blocking some of these shots? I'm not good in the rain yet."

Edgar smiles. "Of course, son. What's your name?"

Oliver's stomach flips with excitement when Edgar calls him 'son.' "Oliver. Oliver Wood."

"It's nice to meet you, Oliver. Now, what do you say to playing some Quidditch?"

* * *

 _Year Four_

It's Professor McGonagall who tells him his mother has died, and McGonagall who escorts him to the funeral. His father doesn't even bother to send a letter.

When he returns to school, he immediately grabs his broom and his Quidditch robes. He should be catching up on the copious amounts of work he's been avoiding, but he can't stand the thought of being inside. It's snowing outside, but that doesn't make a difference to Oliver. He'll play in anything.

As long as it makes him forget.

He's given up on technique by the time Edgar shows up. He punches and kicks the balls as hard as he can, yelling curses at the top of his lungs as the balls just come flying back.

"Had a rough day?"

Oliver catches the Quaffle, not even glancing at the ghost hovering beside him. Edgar is a reminder of death that Oliver doesn't need just now.

"I haven't seen you around for a couple days," says Edgar. "You get detention or something?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Oliver? What's wrong, mate?" Edgar floats closer, reaching out tentatively, but he doesn't touch. They both know his hand will just go through Oliver like mist. That's all Edgar is. Mist.

"Are you even real?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're dead. You're supposed to be gone." _Like my mum_. "Are you just something my mind made up?"

"I'm not sure—"

"People who die don't get to _stay here_."

"Son—"

"STOP!" Oliver pelts the Quaffle at Edgar's head as hard as he can. It flies through his neck instead, spiraling downwards and disappearing from view.

"Just go away." Oliver lets out a sob as he collapses on his broom. "Leave me like everyone else does."

Edgar doesn't leave. "I'm still here," he says, placing his hand right next to the boy's shoulder.

Oliver sniffles a bit but doesn't recoil from Edgar's touch. It's not a hug—it's not even physical contact—but the ghost is the closest thing he has to a friend right now.

* * *

 _Year Five_

Oliver and his father sit down to dinner at 6 o'clock sharp every single night.

"How was work, Da?" he asks. He's not particularly interested, but it's better than sitting in total silence.

"Fine."

"I got my Hogwarts book list today."

"That's nice. You will be going to Diagon Alley to pick up supplies tomorrow?"

It's always this way. His father talks to him as if he's another Ministry official, not a fifteen-year-old boy.

"Yes. I'm going to need some new Keeper gloves as well." He hesitates. "I've been named Captain, you know."

His father pauses at this. For a moment, Oliver dares to hope that he's found a topic in which his father will show an interest. "Are you sure you're ready to be Captain?"

Oliver bristles. "Excuse me?"

"You should be focusing on your studies. I've let you play Quidditch because it's a good way for you to release your childish energy, but you're becoming a man now. You need to focus on your studies so you can follow me into the Ministry."

"Da, I don't want to work at the Ministry."

"You come from a long line of Ministry officials."

"I want to play Quidditch."

His father says nothing.

"I want to play professional Quidditch." Oliver says the words slowly. He's never discussed his dream with anyone before, especially not his father. "I want to die on a broomstick, right where I've always belonged. I don't care about the Ministry. I don't care about my studies or your expectations. I want to play Quidditch."

He leans towards his father with a pleading expression on his face. Maybe, if his Da can see how much he loves Quidditch, he'll find it in his heart—

"You do not raise your voice to me, boy!"

"Da—"

"It's your mother's stubbornness that makes you act this way. She coddled you from the start. I've been trying to fix you for years, but clearly you are your mother's son."

Oliver shoots out of his chair, not registering when it clatters to the floor behind him. "Fix me? Don't try to fix me. I'm not broken!"

"Oliver—"

"I'm Mum's son, yes, but I'm your son, too, Da. I'm not some colleague or some intern from your office. I'm your _son_."

His father glares at him. "You certainly don't act like it."

Oliver's heart plummets.

Without another word, he walks out of the house.

* * *

 _Year Seven_

"So, you're hoping to be scouted?" Edgar is helping Oliver practice a new move he's come up with, one where he dangles from the broom and head butts the Quaffle to one of his Chasers. He has Edgar fly around in front of him, and each time the Quaffle hurtles towards him, he tries to get the Quaffle directly into where Edgar's hands would be if he were alive. "What does your father think of this?"

"He doesn't."

"You haven't told him yet?"

Oliver shakes his head. "I don't really speak to him anymore. I ignore him when I'm home on holidays, and he ignores me. We're both happier this way."

The conversation pauses as Edgar makes suggestions on how to improve Oliver's aim. Soon, though, he's asking more questions.

"Have you ever apologized to your father?"

Oliver scoffs.

"Has he ever apologized to you?"

Oliver catches the Quaffle and gives Edgar a look. "We are talking about the same man, aren't we? My father doesn't apologize. For anything. Ever."

"Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves, you know. Perhaps you should make amends before it's too late."

"What are you talking about, Edgar?"

"I'm not sure. I feel...restless. Something is stirring. I think something bad is about to happen."

"You're talking like a bloody centaur. Worse—you're talking like Professor Trelawney."

Edgar shakes his head. "I'm being serious."

Oliver runs a hand over the Quaffle. "It's pointless to apologize to my father. I've done nothing but try to please him my entire life. No matter what I do, I'm still a disappointment."

Edgar snorts. "Have you seen what you can do with a Quaffle? Believe me, boy. You're no disappointment."

"Thanks, Edgar." Oliver sighs. "You know, you've felt more like a father to me than my own da."

"I never thought anyone would see me as a father figure." Edgar looks rather pleased with himself. "I didn't make it past 23."

Oliver catches the Quaffle once more and starts to descend. It's getting late, and he has fourteen inches on bogwart to write for Professor Snape. "Your body may not have made it past 23, but your soul did. I'm glad I met you."

Edgar smiles. "I'm glad, too." He places a hand just above Oliver's shoulder; it's close enough that he can feel the chill that accompanies all ghosts, yet not close enough that it goes through his shoulder. "I'm proud of you...son."


	10. Quidditch, anyone?

**Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies**

Prompts: (spell) Glisseo (Turns staircases into slides), must start and end with the same word.

Optional prompts:

3\. (word count) 1,089

9\. (restriction) No using the letter 'w'

14\. (quote) 'Dream a little harder' – Team Starkid, Twisted

WC (Before A/N and according to Google Docs): 1,089

* * *

"SHIT!" Katie yelled as cold liquid splashed across her face. She bolted up, blinking as her eyes focused on the face in front of her. "Oliver! Bloody hell!" She hauled her blankets up to her chin, blushing like mad. Usually, Angelina or Alicia got her out of bed, not her very attractive, very male Captain.

"Good morning, Kates! Time for Quidditch practice!"

"It's 4 in the bloody morning," Katie groaned. "You shouldn't even be able to get up here!"

He shrugged. "Even _Glisseo_ has a countercharm."

Katie rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "But Oliver, I had such a good dream…"

"Did it involve Quidditch practices and Quaffles?"

"Absolutely _not_!" she cried, blushing.

"Oh. Then it must not have been a very good dream. Next time, dream a little harder."

She scrambled out of bed, shoving her Captain to the door. "Out. I'll be on the field in 20 minutes. I still need to get dressed, and you are not going to be present for that!"

"Katie? Everything alright?" Leanne mumbled.

"Oh, nothing major, just that _my crush got into our rooms!_ " she hissed.

"Oliver came up _here?!_ "

"Yea! He got past the slide staircase! And then got into our rooms to get me up for Quidditch practice!"

Leanne looked at the clock. "You have Quidditch practice at 4 AM? That's never happened before."

Katie paused. "Yea… Quidditch practice isn't supposed to start until 5… I'm going to go see if Angelina and Alicia are up!" She bolted out the door.

Leanne nodded. "You do that, Katie," she mumbled, then fell back into bed.

* * *

"Angie?" Katie knocked on the fifth-year dormitories but heard no response. "Alicia?"

Still nothing. She opened the door, peeking into the room. None of the girls had moved from their beds.

She crept over to Angelina's bed. "Angie," she said, shaking her friend's foot. "Angie, get up!"

"Hmph?"

"Angie, come on, get up."

"Is something going on?"

"Is there Quidditch practice in fifteen minutes?"

"Uhhhh… No?" The brunette rolled over, checking the clock next to the bed. "Katie! It's only 4:15! Quidditch isn't until 5:30!"

Katie groaned. "I thought so! Oliver came and got me up at 4! I thought I'd forgotten practice, but he didn't get you up!"

Angie sat up. "Oliver got you up at 4 AM?"

"Yea. Bastard," Katie muttered, under her breath.

"Merlin, Ollie!" Angie cried, loud enough that Alicia bolted up and blinked around in alarm.

"A'sgoinon?"

"Oliver got Katie up _early_!"

Alicia rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "So… is there a reason both of _us_ are up early?"

"He purposefully got Katie up early and not us," Angie said, and Alicia gasped.

Katie looked from one girl to the other, confused. "Huh?"

Angelina ignored her. "That stupid, stupid boy! I told him to do something romantic, and he does this!"

"You didn't even get a chance to do your hair, or makeup, or anything!" Alicia cried, pouting.

"And her clothes, of course, are not suitable for any sort of date, even if it's a date on a _broomstick_ ," Angelina reproached, looking at Katie's ragged pants in distaste.

"COULD BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP AND EXPLAIN YOURSELVES?" Katie yelled.

Angelina rolled her eyes. "There's no need to cause a ruckus, Katie."

"Yea, it doesn't take too long to do a simple makeup, and if you just put on these…" Alicia hopped out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans and a cute yet simple green jumper. "Thank Merlin you're my size."

Angelina attacked her face, holding up a tube of mascara. "Just a little bit of this, some lip gloss, and… There."

Ten minutes later, Katie looked like an entirely different person.

"I still don't understand all the fuss. It's just practice," she said as her friends shoved her out the door.

"It's not just practice. It's a _special_ practice. Just go! And have fun," Angie smiled, before slamming the door shut in her friend's face.

Katie sighed. Oliver's mind confused her sometimes, but if she didn't get to the pitch soon, he'd freak out on her. So she trudged off to the Quidditch pitch, broomstick in hand and grimace on her face.

"Oliver?" she called, hands in pockets. "Oliver, are you here?"

"Up here!" he shouted. She glanced up to see him floating in mid-air.

"Stupid git," she muttered, clambering onto her broom and kicking off the ground. "Oliver, tell me the deal."

"The deal?"

"Yea. For the morning practice?"

He shifted uncomfortably on his broom. "But… there's usually morning practice."

"At 4 am? Alone? Just you and me? There's something going on." Katie crossed her arms. "And I deserve to understand."

"Katie, nothing is going on. It's just an extra practice for you because…. Because I need to demonstrate a different play! Yea, that's it!"

Katie scoffed. "Really? You break into the girl's dormitories, drag me out of bed at four in the morning, and get me, and _only_ me to come to practice early, just to go over a different _play_? This couldn't be done at the normal practice?"

"No, Katie, I—"

She shook her head. "No, Oliver, I'm done. I'm tired and really disappointed. Just leave me alone." She turned her broom and headed back to the ground.

"No, Katie, stop!" Oliver cried, but she'd already sprinted back to the castle. "I just… I just meant to tell you I love you," he finished.

* * *

"Practice is cancelled." Fred and George stared at Oliver.

"You're joking."

"No, I'm not. There's no practice today."

"So nothing happened?"

"Of course, nothing happened!" Oliver exploded, rounding on the boys. "I shouldn't possibly have believed that Katie could have feelings for me like I do for her! But I did, because I'm stupid!"

"Oliver?"

All of them turned around to see Katie standing at the bottom of the girl's staircase. Fred and George muttered an excuse about breakfast and ran out the portrait hole.

"Katie. Um, hi."

"Did I hear you right?"

He chuckled. "Hear me right? I didn't say anything?" Even to him, his voice sounded shaky.

"You… like me?" She stepped closer to him until she stood right in front of him. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I… yea. I do."

Katie grinned, and his heart melted. "It's ok, Oliver. I do, too."

"Does that mean… Can I kiss you?"

"Please do," she said softly, and then her lips touched his, and it felt like heaven and—

A splash of cold liquid ran over his head.

"SHIT!"


	11. I Won't Say I'm In Love

**Holyhead Harpies**

 **Chaser 2** : Write a HUMOROUS story about DUMBLEDORE AND GRINDELWALD

2\. (quote) 'Help me… I'm _feeling_!' - The Grinch, _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_

11\. (song) 'I Won't Say I'm In Love' - Disney's Hercules Soundtrack

14\. (creature) Acromantula

 **WC: 1274**

* * *

"Albus, how is this supposed to help the Greater Good?" Gellert complained as they trudged through the woods. Albus shook his head, motioning for the other boy to stay quiet.

"Albus, come on—"

"You said we needed money, right?"

"Yea, but—"

"Well, this is the most legal way to get it. Elphias mentioned his dad was on a case about a group of acromantulas loose in the forest getting too close to the muggles. All we've got to do is kill the acromantulas, take some venom, and get out. The venom is very expensive and we'll be doing everyone a favor. Thus, the Greater Good."

Gellert sighed, scuffing the toe of his shoe in the dirt. "This is not what I had in mind when you said to free up my entire day," he said drily, and Albus blushed.

"We're earning money today. I'm not watching you blow gold on strippers like the last time."

"Fine. But you could've enjoyed it, too," Gellert muttered as they pushed on.

Albus squinted through the trees, lighting his wand with a silent _Lumos_. They were reaching the darkest part of the forest. They were sure to find the nest soon.

He heard a sharp _crack!_ from behind and he spun, ready to shoot off a spell at the danger that lay behind him, but it was only Gellert. He'd stepped on a branch.

At least he had the decency to look slightly ashamed at his clumsiness.

"Sorry."

"Just be quiet and keep moving!" Albus hissed, turning back around. He was spotting webs in the trees, shining in his wand light. His feet ghosted over the leaves, his eyes looked everywhere. He'd see the spiders before they'd see him.

"Albus?"

"Not now, Gel!"

"Um, Albus?"

"Gellert! I said not now!" He didn't bother turning around.

"Albus!"

" _What?!_ " He finally turned to glare at his friend.

"That." Albus glanced up. Above their heads was a gigantic acromantula, sitting on a thick web that spanned the space between several trees. All eight beady eyes glared down at them.

"Oh. Right."

" _Who are you_?" The spider's voice echoed through the clearing, the mere sound of it paralyzing them both with fear.

"We—We don't mean any harm!" Gellert called, raising his shaking hands in a gesture of peace.

" _Only men who mean harm say that._ "

"Fair enough," Gellert muttered. He stepped back, motioning Albus forward. "You're the silver-tongue, my friend. Your turn."

Albus swallowed. "We're scholars. We heard tales of your greatness, but we wished to see it in person. And now we have. So, um, we'll be going now." He grabbed Gellert's hand and backed away.

" _Not so fast. Did you not learn about our affinity for human flesh?_ "

"Run!" Albus yelled, and then it was chaos. All he could think of were spells to fire at the acromantulas surrounding them, and flashes of light lit up the clearing as Gellert did the same. His feet hit the ground hard, each impact sending shockwaves through his legs. His hand still gripped Gellert's, each young man pulling at the other as they ran.

"Albus, what's the safety plan?" Gellert yelled as he blasted an acromantula over his shoulder.

" _Infringo!_ I don't have one!"

" _What?!_ "

"I didn't think we'd need one!" Albus threw up a shield wall, slamming back a couple hundred acromantula as he did so. It wouldn't hold them long, but it would work for a bit.

"Can you apparate?"

"Of _course_ I can apparate!"

"Then get us out of here!" Gellert yelled. The acromantula were almost on them, pincers nipping at their heels.

Albus cursed in his head. Of course. This wasn't Hogwarts, where he first encountered acromantulas. They were both full-fledged wizards; they could disapparate. Thinking hard of the Godric's Hollow apparation point, he spun on his feet and dragged Gellert into the darkness.

He felt his feet hit the ground and he tumbled from impact, Gellert's hand being yanked from his in the process.

"Ugghhh," Gellert groaned, and Albus scrambled to his feet, wand out. The night was clear and there was no danger to be seen.

"Next time, we do it my way," Gellert said as he sat up. "Whoa. Also, why is the world spinning?"

"Spinning? Gel, you ok?" Albus knelt beside his friend. "What's wrong?"

"Wow. Isn't the night just so bright?" Gellert said, grinning. "It's so beautiful."

"Gellert?"

" _You're_ so beautiful. Have I told you that before?"

Albus froze. "You… you have not."

"Well, you are. But that doesn't mean anything. Of course, it doesn't mean anything," he said, frowning. "I won't say it."

"Say what, Gellert?"

"You can't make me say it! I won't say it!"

"Gellert, say what?"

"No chance!"

Albus hauled his friend to his feet, searching him for injuries.

"Why are you so close to me?"

"I'm checking for injuries, idiot. You're acting weird, and I want to make sure you didn't hit your head."

"It's not my head that needs checking out. It's my heart."

Albus paused. "Excuse me?"

"My heart. It hurts when you come near me. Almost like it's—it's aching or something. It felt like this the last time."

"Gellert, what are you on?!" Then he saw it. The three-inch gash on his arm that was purple at the edges and leaking a silvery-colored pus.

Acromantula venom.

"Merlin's pants," he muttered. "Gel, this is gonna sting. I have to siphon what venom I can from the wound. You're suffering from hallucinations from the venom."

"If there's a prize for rotten judgement, I guess I've already won that."

"Really, mate, I think that's me. I'm the one who got you into that mess."

"No man is worth the aggravation."

"What?"

"It's ancient history, been there, done that!" he yelled, then grasped Albus's shoulders excitedly. "Albus! That's it!"

"That's what?"

"That's what I should write my song about! How I won't say I'm in love!"

Albus gripped his wand, grabbing his friend's arm and pushing the sleeve away from the wound. "I'd suggest you shut up before you start gabbing about some girl. I don't want to hear it, and you need my help." He muttered an incantation over Gellert's arm, smiling as white light enveloped the arm.

"Ah! Help me... I'm _feeling_!" Gellert clutched at his heart in agony

"Gel, I'm sorry! Where does it hurt?"

"My heart. I think it's feeling!"

"Oh, Gel. That's called love." He met his friend's eyes. "Whoever you're hallucinating about, you really love them, don't you?"

His friend's gaze dimmed as the venom slowly left his system, leaving Gellert blinking in confusion.

"Hallucinating? I wasn't seeing anything different. Everything was… brighter, somehow, but I was with you the entire time. You kept on telling me to admit that I loved you, and at first, I denied it, but then I realized that I do love you."

Albus sat back, frozen in shock. "You… You what? Did you just say…"

"That I loved you? Yea, I did."

"Oh."

"D'you… love me, too?"

Albus smiled, tightening his grip on his friend's hand and leaning closer. "I've loved you since the moment I met you," he whispered, pulling the other boy closer for a kiss.

Gellert tangled his hands in Albus' hair, deepening the kiss until neither could take it anymore and the break apart, gasping for breath.

"Well. That was… something."

"Yea."

"Next time, we're still doing it my way."

Albus chuckled, pulling Gellert to his feet. "Sure," he said, slipping his arm around the other boy's waist.

Gellert threw his arm around Albus' shoulders as they walked into town, leaning down and kissing his cheek every few steps. "Love you," he whispered.

"Love you, too."


	12. Home

**Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies**

 **Prompts** :

Genre: Humor

5\. (song) Mad World by Gary Jules

8\. (quote) 'Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please.' - Mark Twain

9\. (setting) a Muggle restaurant

 **WC** : 2,173

A/N: So this is a lighthearted romantic humor piece, which is also kind of Modern Shakespearean!Comedy AU, while also being a Muggle!AU, and honestly I'm pretty sure I got cavities from writing it. Also, there is no McD's on Newbury Street in Boston (at least not that I know of). So... enjoy!

~Mel

* * *

 _All around me are familiar faces_

 _Worn out places, worn out faces_

Katie sighed as she stepped into the McDonald's on Newbury Street. She'd moved to the United States a year ago to get her masters in journalism, but it had yet to feel like home. As familiar as Boston felt to the London she'd left behind, with it's bustling streets and old buildings, it was the small differences that reminded her how far from home she'd gone.

Katie hung her bag on a hook in the employee locker room, grabbing an apron and tying it around her waist. As she did so, she heard footsteps behind her.

"How's it going, Kit-Kat?" Angelina, her friend and co-worker, ruffled Katie's hair, grinning at the reactionary "Oi!" that escaped the girl's lips.

"How many bloody times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" she said in mock annoyance, and Angelina's grin widened.

"As many 'bloody' times as it takes!" Then she was out the swinging doors, hips swaying and curls bouncing.

Katie followed into the main kitchen, which was bustling in preparation for the impending lunch rush. She nodded to the workers she recognized, smiling in sympathy as their tired eyes met her own.

She relieved the girl at the register, telling her to go take a break, before logging in and calling up the next customer.

"Hello, welcome to McDonald's, how may I help you?"

"You're British."

She looked up, startled, into the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen. They belonged to a tall man with curly brown hair, tan skin, and high cheekbones. He was easily the most gorgeous man Katie had seen in America. "You're Scottish," she said.

To her relief, the man laughed. "Why, yes, I am. I just moved here a week ago. I'd never been to a McDonald's before, and I thought that since I was in America, I should try it's most famous cuisine."

Katie grinned and rolled her eyes. "You'd be better off trying a coffee from Dunkin' Donuts if you really want to feel like a local. Everyone here seems to think it's better than anything in the world, but give me a cup of tea any day."

"I heard that!" Angelina yelled from three registers away, and Katie blushed. Angelina probably had more coffee running through her veins than blood at this point. She said it was what kept her going through her two jobs and class.

Her blush deepened as she realized she hadn't even asked this man for his order yet. "I'm so sorry, what did you want to order? I was so shocked to hear a familiar sound that I completely lost my head."

"It's fine . . . Katie," he said, squinting to read her name tag. "It's actually quite nice to hear your accent, as well. These odd people don't pronounce their 'r's, did you know that?" He leaned forward as if divulging something scandalous.

Katie laughed. "I'm from London. I don't really pronounce my 'r's either."

"Yea, well, not everyone can be from Scotland. Someone's got to come in second. Or third, in London's case."

"Oi!"

The man grinned. "Sorry, sorry, just taking the micky. I'll have a burger, fries, and a drink, as well as a chicken nugget kid's meal, if you don't mind."

She was already tapping in the order when she realized he'd said 'kid's meal', and her heart sank. She hadn't thought he was much older than she, probably no more than 25, but if he already had a kid, he was off-limits.

"What's the name for the order, sir?" she asked, and he smiled.

"Don't worry about the 'sir' part. You'll make me feel ancient. Just call me 'Oliver.'"

She snorted. "Of course. Because what's more Scottish than being called Oliver?"

"Being called Callum?"

She shook her head as she handed him a drink cup. "Your order will be ready soon. It was nice meeting you, Oliver."

Her heart fluttered as he smiled at her once again. "You too, Katie."

She hardly heard anything that was said to her for the next hour.

* * *

 _Went to school and I was very nervous,_

 _No one knew me, no one knew me_

Oliver had gone from being unfamiliar with McDonald's to a regular in the course of four days. Every afternoon, when his sister would leave for work, he would drag his nephew to the McDonald's down the street and let him loose on the playground while he waited to see Katie again. He'd buy a coffee for himself and a kid's meal for Matthew, and simply sit there, one eye on the playground and one on the registers.

On his fourth day, he had company.

"So, Scottish McHottie." He looked up, startled, as a tan girl dropped into the seat in front of him. "Come here often?"

"Scottish McHot—do I know you?"

"I work here." The girl flicked the brim of her McDonald's employee hat. "I'm on my break. Name's Angelina."

"I'm Oliver."

"I know. But it took three days for Katie to actually tell me your name, so I called you 'Scottish McHottie' in my head. Honestly, I like it a lot better than 'Oliver.'"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"You should get it changed."

He snorted a laugh.

"So, anyways, Oliver." She leaned toward him, and he tensed. "You like Katie."

It was not what he was expecting. "I—What?"

"You've come in here every day since you met her. All you buy is a Happy Meal, which means you're not suddenly addicted to the food, and you sit at this table, one of the few that gives you a decent vantage point of both the play structure outside and the registers."

He shifted in his seat. "You know my habits well for someone who hasn't been working every time I've come in here."

She grinned, cat-like. "I've got friends. Anyways, I know you like Katie, and I know you've been dragging that poor kid, whoever he is, back here every day as an excuse to see her again. Please tell me that kid is at least related to you, because I know he's not your son, despite Katie insisting that that's who the Happy Meals are for."

Oliver sat in shock for a moment, processing the information this girl had thrown in his face. _Katie thought he had a son?_

"Wait, how'd you know Matthew wasn't my son? How'd you possibly figure out that I was coming here for Katie and not because Matthew was obsessed with your playground?"

She glanced out the window to where the little boy was sitting on a bench with an unopened box of nuggets on his lap, scowling and refusing to go anywhere near the play structure. Oliver followed her gaze and blushed.

"Look, my break's almost over, but I came here to tell you something. Katie hasn't been working afternoons this week because she's got midterms. She works again on Saturday. Come in around 2:45, but not before. That's when she takes her break. Can you do that?"

Oliver nodded. "I can do that. But, wait, why are you setting us up? What's in it for you?"

Angelina smiled as she stood. "Katie's become one of my closest friends since she moved here, but I can tell she really misses home. The two minutes she spent talking to you was the happiest I've seen her in a long time. I wouldn't mind seeing that happiness a bit more often."

She walked back towards the counter.

"Hey, Angelina," Oliver called, and she paused, turning around to look at him. "Thanks. Katie's lucky to have a friend like you."

* * *

 _I find it hard to tell you,_

 _I find it hard to take_

It had been a week since the last time Oliver had frequented the fine establish of McDonald's. Katie spent every shift with one eye on the door, hoping to see familiar brown curls walk through, but no such luck. It took Angelina three days to catch on, though it would've taken her less had she not been so preoccupied in flirting with Fred Weasley, a new hire.

"Katie, why are you staring at the door? Who are you expecting to walk through it?" Angelina's voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

"No one."

"Bullshit."

Katie shrugged. "Ange, lay off. I'm not expecting anything."

"It's that Scottish guy, isn't it?"

"You know about that?"

Ange rolled her eyes. "Of course! I was there when he blatantly flirted with you! You insulted coffee, you abominable tea drinkers."

"Tea is a perfectly acceptable morning beverage, where I come from! Even better, it's acceptable any time of the day!"

"As is coffee!"

No one batted an eye as the two girls bickered. They had this argument daily.

"No, it's n—"

"You can't change the subject on me, Katie. This is about Scottish McHottie."

Katie balked. "Scottish Mc _Hottie_? Where'd you come up with that?"

"When he came in here two days ago. You did good, kid. If I didn't have a thing for mischievous redheads, I'd do him."

"He came in here two days ago?" Katie felt herself blush. "I didn't see him."

Angelina grabbed Katie by the arm and shoved her towards the employee door. "He's going to come in here in five minutes."

" _What?!_ "

"Good thing you came straight from class. You look like a human being. However," she grabbed Katie's chin and attacked her with a lip gloss dug out of her purse, "you could use a bit of a touch-up."

Katie struggled to free herself from Angelina's vice-like grip. "Ange, he's got a kid. He probably has a wife."

Angelina looked at her, a hard look glinting in her eyes. "Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please," she said, before shoving Katie towards the door.

"Did you just quote Mark Twain as _dating advice?!_ "

"Go take your break!"

A magazine was shoved into her hand as she was propelled onto the floor. There weren't many customers at 2:45 in the afternoon and she didn't smoke, so she took her breaks at the table near the window. She had a clear view of the registers, just in case something happened, but she could also watch what was going on outside.

She glanced down at the magazine as the bells at the door chimed.

"Welcome to McDonald's," she heard Angie call, and then someone sat in the seat in front of her.

She glanced up.

"Hello," Oliver said, his smile widening at the look of shock on her face.

"You came back!" She blushed hard as she said it. "I—I mean—"

"Aye. I've actually come back every day since we met, but you haven't been working in the afternoons, and I help my sister out in the mornings."

"I had midterms," she said stupidly.

"Katie, would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

"Um." She glanced at Angelina, who was busy with a customer and offered no support. "Would your son be okay with that?"

Oliver chuckled. "If I'd known Matthew was killing my game, I'd have refused to babysit him ages ago."

"Babysit?"

"He's my nephew. My sister's husband walked out on her and I was considering moving out here anyways, so... I told her I'd stay with her for a month to help while she figured things out."

Katie swallowed. "Why would you ask me out if you're planning on leaving in a month?"

Oliver shrugged. "There's not much left for me in Scotland. Why move back there when there's the prospect of something wonderful here?"

The way he looked at her made her blush as she realized he was talking about her. At the same time, her heart fluttered.

"So, will you go on that date with me?"

She grinned, grabbing the Sharpie out of her apron pocket and pulling his hand towards her before jotting down her number. "Call me," she said, standing up and heading back to the employee room.

As the door to swung shut behind her, she heard a distinctly Scottish-sounding whoop, and she laughed out loud.

For the first time, she thought Boston might just become her new home.


	13. Truth or Dare

**Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies**

Use a simile (I used "curled up like a cat") AND a section written in epistolary form (an excerpt from a diary, letter, document etc). Write about the OTP of the player who submitted before you. Fremione is an OTP of Lizzie, our Seeker, who submitted first on our team.

5\. (quote) 'If you done it, it ain't bragging.' - Walt Whitman

10\. (object) a sparkly suit

14\. (quote) "These trousers are a little short, don't you think?" - John Abruzzi, _Prison Break_

 **WC: 2,481**

* * *

It was the night before Easter break officially began. Classes were over, the train would be leaving tomorrow at 10 o'clock, and at this late hour, nearly all the students in the Gryffindor common room were asleep.

Except for two.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"Coward."

"I chose Dare last time! I've got to mix it up, or you'll run out of ideas."

George Weasley, who was lying face down on the floor, rolled over to face his twin brother. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was passed out around the common room. Angelina and Alicia had snuggled up together in an armchair, and Katie was on the sofa, curled up like a cat and wrapped in one of Oliver Wood's old sweaters. Harry had gone up to bed an hour ago with Ron and Hermione, but Fred and George were still awake. They'd exhausted their usual entertainments of Exploding Snap and Shag/Hitch/Avada, and had resorted to a Muggle game Katie had introduced: Truth or Dare.

"Fred," said George as he rested his chin in the palm of his right hand. "We're twins. I know everything about you already."

Fred grinned from his chair and raised a bottle of butterbeer to his lips. "You sure? Go ahead, ask me something. I might surprise you."

"Fine. How many girls have you snogged?"

Fred chewed thoughtfully at his lip. "Ten."

George rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"What? If you've done it, it ain't bragging."

"Fred. Who are these ten girls?"

"You already know about Angelina," said Fred, ticking off on his fingers. "But there was also Lavender Brown, both Patil twins, Alicia—"

"So probably Katie, too, I imagine," George said.

Fred shook his head. "Not Katie."

"Not Katie? Why not? You could get a full Chaser set. That's fifty points."

"And risk the wrath of Oliver Wood? No way. He would've killed me if I'd kissed her when he was in school, and she's too busy pining after him and denying it to even glance my way. 'Sides, she's like a little sister to me."

George glanced over at Katie's sleeping form on the soda. "I s'pose. Continue your list."

"Let's see. There was Cho Chang, Penelope Clearwater—"

"Penelope Clearwater?" George cocked his head to one side. "Before or after she dated Percy?"

Fred winked. "During. Quit interrupting me."

"Fine, fine. Who else?"

"Patricia Stimpson, Susan Bones, and Tonks."

"You kissed _Tonks?!_ "

"We were both drunk at the Burrow. You were off with that Muggle girl you had a fling with last summer."

"You and Tonks got drunk without me?"

"We were both pining over people we couldn't have. It was just because we were lonely. Nothing personal."

George gave Fred the evil eye. "Who were you pining after?"

"Now, now, George." Fred tipped back his head to take a swig of butterbeer. "I already answered your Truth. I think it's your turn."

"No, wait. Give me another turn. Since you got drunk without me."

Fred heaved a sigh. "If you insist."

George rolled up onto his knees. "Truth or Dare?"

Fred smirked. "Dare."

"What?" George looked defeated. "No, choose Truth!"

" _Dare_."

"Fine." George narrowed his eyes. "Tomorrow morning, when everyone is down in the Great Hall eating breakfast before the train leaves, you have to . . . run through the Great Hall wearing a sparkly suit."

Fred raised his eyebrows. "Like a swimming suit?"

George shook his head. "You know which suit."

Fred's eyes widened. "The one you have in your closet that we stole from Professor Lockhart back in fourth year?"

"That's the one. And… and… you also have to yell, 'I LOVE HERMIONE GRANGER!' at the top of your lungs!"

Fred choked on the butterbeer he had just sipped. "Why Hermione Granger?"

"Because she's got the largest stick shoved up her arse. And she's the only Gryffindor besides Katie you haven't snogged, right?"

"That can't be right."

"You have to do it. You've been Dared."

Fred still looked troubled. "What if she hears?"

"She probably will. Who cares? It's not like you actually love Hermione."

Fred chuckled. "Right. Of course not."

* * *

The next morning, Fred found himself standing in front of the mirror in the seventh year boys dormitory. Lee Jordan had been filled in upon waking, and now sat on the edge of his bed, laughing at the spectacle in front of him.

Fred glanced down at the six inches of ankle sticking from the bottom of his pant legs. "These trousers are a bit short, don't you think?"

"All the better!" George said, pulling an oversized top hat from behind his back with a flourish. "Add the final touch, and you're ready!"

Fred took a deep breath, taking one last look at himself in the mirror. The sparkly suit was a garish pink color, with a sparkly blue silk shirt underneath that had ruffles going down the center. There was a sparkly bowtie in lime green pinned beneath his chin, and the cuffs flared out in lacy ruffles akin to Ron's Yule Ball robes. The pants legs were tight and hugged his bum uncomfortably. George's 'final touch' top hat was a sparkly pink that matched the suit and clashed horribly with the bright red of his hair.

Lee handed him a large black robe. "Here, wear this on the walk down. We don't want to spoil the surprise."

* * *

It all happened so fast.

He bolted into the Great Hall, sparkly pink coattails flapping behind him, shouting, "I LOVE HERMIONE GRANGER!" at the top of his lungs as he raced down the center aisle between the tables.

He could hear people shrieking with laughter—he turned around to send George and Lee a thumbs up over his shoulder—

He banged straight into someone.

The small, high-pitched "oomph!" that came out of the person he'd crashed into told Fred it was a girl. He struggled to regain his footing, but it was too late. They both tumbled to the floor, with Fred landing on top of the girl. When he shook his hair out of his eyes, he realized he'd landed right on top of Hermione Granger herself.

She'd looked furious and surprised and _lovely_ , always lovely, and suddenly the conversation from last night about how she was the only Gryffindor he hadn't kissed was pounding in his ears—

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he said, and then he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

And then, face burning as he realized all eyes were on him, he ran.

* * *

"Fred." George was in the doorway of their dormitory, where Fred had holed himself up after his escape. "What the hell happened, mate?"

"Happened? Nothing happened. Nothing at all."

"You kissed Hermione Granger."

"I kissed Hermione Granger." He stared at his brother. "I kissed _Hermione Granger_."

"Did you plan that?" Lee said from behind George.

"To kiss her? Of course not!"

"Did you want to?"

Fred was silent.

"Wait a mo'." George's eyes lit up. "It's her, isn't it. She's the girl you were pining after all summer."

Fred's sheepish look said it all.

"You drank without me over _Hermione?_ "

"Wait, you're actually into Hermione?" Lee asked. " _How_?"

"Opposites attract?" Fred tried.

"You two are more than opposites. You hate each other! You're always teasing her, and she's always yelling at you, and—oh, I see. It's because you like her and want her attention." Lee rolled his eyes. "Fred, are you five?"

George collapsed on his bed, putting his feet up against the footboard and his arms behind his head. "Write her a letter."

"What?"

"Write her a letter. Tell her how you feel."

"I don't need to tell her how I—"

"You just assaulted the poor girl in the Great Hall. I think you owe her a bit of an explanation."

Fred sighed. "Would she like that?"

"This is Hermione. She loves to read. She'll enjoy a letter."

* * *

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I'm sorry for the debacle in the Great Hall this morning. George and I were playing Truth or Dare, and he started to ask me about the girl I like. To avoid answering his question, I picked Dare, hoping that he wouldn't figure out my crush._

 _But that obviously backfired, because somehow he picked the one girl I've actually liked for me to prank. He dared me to run down the length of the Great Hall in that stupid suit, shouting, "I love Hermione Granger" at the top of my lungs. And I did it, because what's a Weasley to do when faced with a dare? We take them seriously in our household. It's all those siblings, I guess._

 _He didn't, however, dare me to kiss you. That was all me, and I'm sorry. When I banged into you, we were so close and I just really wanted to kiss you. I couldn't stop myself. But that's not the way I've imagined getting to kiss you for the first time, and I'm sorry. Originally, my plan was to ask you on a date to Hogsmeade. We'd go to a small bookshop, where I would watch you look at books until you found one you really wanted. When you weren't looking, I would flip that book upside down, and then George would find it later—because of course, George would be following us. It's George. I wouldn't be able to stop him if I tried—and purchase it, and he would bring it to me in the bathroom of the Three Broomsticks, which is where you and I would go after the bookshop. Book hidden safely in my cloak, I would take you to that little cafe that just opened up, Giggles and Things, and then I would surprise you with your book. Then I'd walked you back up to the castle and kiss you at the foot of the stairs to the girl's dormitories._

 _But obviously, that's not what happened. I dunno if you even like me enough to agree to go to Hogsmeade. I suppose I'll never know, because I went and mucked it up. I moved too fast and kissed you before you were ready, before even I was ready. George and I figured out last summer that you had a crush on Ron, so I'm sorry if my kiss was unwanted._

 _I hope you forgive me,_

 _Fred._

He blew on the ink to dry it, then folded and sealed it. Calling to Loki, the owl he shared with George, he attached the letter to Loki's leg and sent him out the window into the bright noon sky.

Then he crawled into bed and closed his curtains with a snap.

* * *

With everyone home for the Easter holidays, the common room was emptier than it usually was. Fred and George were lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, planning their escape from Hogwarts. They had the swamp ready, but they were still working on some of the fireworks.

"Fred?"

The boys glanced up and froze. At the foot of the stairs stood Hermione Granger, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders and Fred's letter in her hand.

George bolted for the stairs to the boy's dormitory, bringing their plans with him. "I'll keep working on this in our room," he called over his shoulder. "Bye!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow as he ran past her. "Am I that terrifying?"

"Yes," said Fred. When Hermione's gaze turned on him, he added, "I mean, George and I aren't really scared of people. But you're like Mum. You can do _anything_. So yeah, you're terrifying."

She smiled, and Fred's heart gave a flutter. He'd made her smile instead of frown!

"I read your letter."

He stood carefully and moved to the couch. "I can see that."

"It was nice. I liked it."

"Is that all?"

"Well, as much as I liked it, I think you got a lot of information wrong."

Fred cocked his head to the side, watching her carefully as she perched on the other end of the couch.

"Well, first of all, you didn't have to do that Dare. You two didn't make an Unbreakable Vow, so there was really nothing stopping you."

"You've met my brother, haven't you? The retaliation would have been too great."

"Secondly, I don't have a crush on Ron."

Fred slid a little closer to her. "You don't?"

"No, I don't. I know he has a little crush on me, but that's an infatuation and he'll grow out of it. I love him as a friend, but he doesn't challenge me. He and Harry both. They just go along with anything I say because they assume I'll be right, and it's sort of boring for me."

She'd leaned in a little closer to him as well, and Fred grinned. "So, if you don't like Ron, who do you like? Krum?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Ew, no. His attention was nice last year, but other than the occasional letters, we don't have much in common." She slid a little closer to him.

"So," Fred said, sliding even closer until they were right next to each other, and their faces were inches apart. "Who _do_ you like then?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're going to make me say it?"

"It's Dumbledore, isn't it."

She laughed, and then looked surprised that she'd laughed. "It's you. I like you, Fred." She bit her lip. "And your kiss wasn't unwanted. I actually enjoyed it. It made me realize that you felt the same way I did."

"Hermione."

"It was a bit too public, of course, and you ran away so I thought—"

"Hermione!"

"What?"

Fred swallowed. "We can't start this. Not now."

"What's wrong?"

"George and I are leaving."

"I know you're graduating, but—"

"No, I mean we're _leaving._ We're planning something. I don't want to give you details because Umbridge will come after you if she even suspects you know anything, but we . . . we won't be graduating with the rest of the class."

Hermione nodded. "I figured as much. You two have been hunched over those secret scraps of parchment for days now, and there's no way you've been studying for NEWTs. I assumed you were planning something to get back at Umbridge. You wouldn't be you if you didn't at least try."

Fred couldn't stop looking at her. "You know me well."

"To answer your question, though, I _do_ want to start this right now. Voldemort's back, Fred, and we both know this isn't going to end without a war. I don't want to put this off and then never get a chance to see where it leads."

"Are you sure?"

Hermione nodded. "I'll be by your side every step of the way."

Later on, he couldn't be sure whether it was him or her who leaned in first, but their second kiss was significantly longer and more passionate than the first, and Fred wouldn't have had it any other way.


End file.
